Show Me
by grelber37
Summary: The Avengers go to Missouri. There, they encounter bad guys. Per usual, I base Marvel stories more in the books than the movies, much as one loves those too. Thank you for reading my stuff.
1. Chap 1: The Earth and Sky

**Chapter 1: "The Earth and Sky"**

Wide green eyes gaze over brown, undulant waters, and a sultry breeze breathes over bare skin in a black bikini. The summer breeze blows the beauty's black tresses about and palpably touches her tongue in her softly panting mouth. Thick air seeps down her throat, and oppressive heat hugs her moist flesh. Her hand slowly swipes the sweat from her svelte form—until it finds the tigrine talisman clipped twixt her cleavage. She glances down as though dreaming. Mississippi River mud supports her feet momentarily. Then, turbid water splashes her toes, and her soles sink into the soft shore sand.

Suddenly, gravel crunches behind Greer Nelson, and she startles like a scaredy cat. The woman whirls around to look. Behind Greer, Jan swats swarming mosquitos pestering the Wasp.

Tigra does not know this woman in an expensive, gaudy bodysuit with a big W upon it. The strange lady appears to be a middle-aged brunette with a good dye job. Her make-up is well-applied, but her thick foundation crinkles like a latex mask when she cringes in great confusion.

"Pardon me. But, where am I? And, who are you?" Janet van Dyne queries Greer Nelson.

"I'm . . . somebody. Uhmmm," Tigra thinks two ticks, "Who the hell are you?"

"I am. . . . ." the Wondrous Wasp wonders with lax lips.

Greer stares vacuously and woolgathers, seeking her secret identity. Jan bats her lashes and cogitates, curious about her own identity. Both women start, "I'm. . . . ."

"I'm drowning! Help!" someone shouts from the river.

Eighty feet from the bank, Bruce Banner struggles in the Mississippi's strong and swirling current. He could perhaps become the Incredible Hulk and egress his peril quickly. But, for some reason, Bruce is not doing so. Rather, the lanky man labors to stay afloat amidst the undulant liquid element. He spits silty water. He is tiring and may soon sink. Old Man River moves the mortal swiftly southward away from the two women witnesses.

"Who is that unfortunate fellow?" witless Wasp fails to recognize a fellow founding Avenger.

"It doesn't matter. I'm a cop . . . I think. I'm going in after him," the ex-officer sprints into the shallows, "You must have a cellphone, Barbie. Call me some assistance!"

"I'll help you!" another party arrives from nowhere.

The white-haired man peels past Wasp and books beside Tigra in no time flat. Greer gets a brief glimpse of him. Surprisingly, his face is much too young for his pale pate. Plus, he moves like someone in his prime—or even better than human prime. Promptly, the unexpected assistant flexes powerful legs and leaps eight feet forward in an arc. His green wetsuit (as his costume appears to be) plunges beneath the Mississip's murky surface as Tommy Shepherd adeptly places his goggles. Swimming Shepherd propels himself toward his purpose, and Speed might even catch him. Certainly, Tommy has the strong legs.

In short order, Speed extricates Bruce from an unhealthy eddy. Tommy tucks his choking charge to his chest and reverse backstrokes with only his legs. Shepherd rips through the moving river and returns himself and his rescued to the riparian realm where Nelson and van Dyne await.

"That was impressive," Jan expresses to the impulsive Speed.

"What's your name, kid?" Greer inquires.

Tommy tilts his head and thinks hard. Speed stands still and dumbstruck. "Um-ah-um" is all that he eventually utters.

First responder Nelson takes Banner from Shepherd's arms. She sits the shaking stringbean on the sand and whacks his back successively to clear riverwater. The saved swimmer hacks and wheezes in his purple trunks, which customize to his present size, whether puny or massive. Jan gingerly offers a handkerchief stowed in her costume so that the stranger can wipe his yucky clearing nose. She expresses that she shan't want the nice accessory back.

Behind Wasp, Speed empties brown bilge from his boots. He comments on Bruce and Greer, "You two look garbed for swimming. I don't. I wonder what's going on and who we all are."

"I am David," Bruce croaks.

"You remember your name!" Tigra rubs Hulk's back vigorously. Perhaps, more information will issue forth.

Banner looks around vacantly, "I am not unequivocally sure. David B. might be an alias that I often use when incognito."

"Do you typically go incognito while wearing next-to-nothing?" aristocrat van Dyne queries. She would like to assess and judge. A chairwoman of business and the Avengers appreciates control of a situation.

"Hey, a policewoman might be undercover too," Nelson examines her own scant apparel and opines, "Although, I admit not knowing."

"Well, what do you know, detective?" Wasp leans over kneeling Tigra.

Tigra springs up and stares down Wasp. In her head, the Cat assays that Jan speaks with a twitty, upper-class accent and that her gaudy—but fashionable—costume and aspect make her look like a stereotypical white Anglo-Saxon Protestant, here against the rustic landscape. However, the Cat holds her tongue, for even an amnesiac Avenger is noble and a bit politically-correct.

Instead, the fuzzy sleuth investigates, "What do I know? I ken that you have a huge monogram on your medium bust. So, woman, what does the W stand for?"

"It may stand for my name," deduces the affected ditz, "Although, I doubt that I am a frumpy Wilhelmina or our scatter-brained forty-third president. Tee-hee. So, my name must be 'who' as in 'you are who, and who are you'." Jan chortles at her own droll joke.

"Titter, titter," Tigra retorts sarcastically.

Suddenly, Speed blurts, "Are you my mother?" Her name is Wanda . . . I'm pretty sure." Scarlet Witch is indeed Tommy Shepherd's mother.

Ms. van Dyne snickers. "Oh honey, do I look like a mom? I don't think so," Jan vainly strokes her hips, "Hank and I never had kids." A Hank Pym impersonator and Tigra had a kid, oddly enough. But, no one present remembers that presently.

"I also know a Wanda, and she has a brother who looks like you," Greer informs Tommy, "Or maybe, she doesn't. It's all a blur." Nelson shakes her head hazy.

"Wanda's brother's name is Pietro," Wasp states, "I remember that they are Wanda and Pietro from Wundagore Mountain."

"Who the f*** names their kid 'Pietro'?" Tigra is skeptical.

"Yeah!" Speed affirms.

"And, no one is from Wundagore Mountain in Transia," Hulk interjects, "The earth is too enriched with uranium. No human prospers from such exposure to radiation."

"Oh, la-di-da! No one believes that anyone is named Pietro," Jan fans herself in the sweltering heat, "Fine, you little folks figure-out everything! I am bigger than any of you."

"I hope your husband Hank smacks you one," the Cat spits back.

"A husband should not smack his wife," says Brian Banner's kid and Rebecca Banner's orphan.

The Cat controls herself. Officer Nelson speaks, "We're in Illinois, but not Chicago. Something tells me that. I know the Chicago area." Greer has resided in the Windy City in past life.

"How do you know that we are even in Illinois?" Tommy asks.

"My husband Bill and I would vacation near St. Louis when getting away from Chicago," Greer makes known, "Although, my late husband may have been 'John' instead of 'Bill'. And, Johnny is actually alive if memory serves. . . . ."

Bruce stands. He states, "We do seem to be in the Little Egypt section of Illinois, that southern tip from Cairo to Effingham, with Carbondale in-between. Carbondale has a fine university. I have guest-lectured there."

"How do you know that we are in southern Illinois?" Tommy asks.

"The sun's position and resulting shadows suggest certain coordinates on the Earth, to an apparently brilliant mind. Plus, only so many American rivers are as wide as the wide Mississippi. Plus, this beach's extant foliage tell me this and that," Dr. Banner points to the sky, then the river, and then pompously the surrounding landscape, as though associates cannot see these things.

Sighing heavily, Jan pulls her hair as though she could just harangue, "Jeepers-criminy! We have a detective and a scientist, but no one can ascertain a gosh-darn thing useful!"

"Language!" Speed chides.

"Oh shut up!" Wasp saucily scolds, "_Age of Ultron_ sucked almost as much as the actual Age of Ultron,"

"Actually, I can ascertain something," Tigra returns all to topic, "There is a small farm town less than a mile east, through the woods. Somehow, I can almost smell the agricultural activity." Greer juts a finger at the treeline a piece away.

"Do you mean your bullcrap?" Jan is even a wee more waspish.

Greer exhibits her nails like she would scratch a hag's eyes out. She hisses. Impulsive Shepherd places a kind glove on Nelson's arched bare back. He rubs rapidly and well.

"I believe you," Tommy strokes her ego, "A farm town, you say?"

"It is part of the dust in the wind," Greer comments. Tigra lithely slips from Speed's light fingers.

"I likewise conjecture that there is an agrarian settlement over there, for two reasons," Dr. Banner speaks, "One, most of Little Egypt is farm towns. Two, that fast boy's boots arrived here from the east. See." The empiricist points to parted tall grass framing footprints in the soil between the beach and the forest.

"How fast were you possibly moving to mark the ground and grass like that?" inspector Nelson eyes Shepherd in his aviator goggles and sleek suit.

Tommy shrugs, "I don't know. Call me Wally West."

"But, you did come from the west," Wasp notes.

Tigra rolls her eyes. This W. really is a winner. While waiting for Whirlwind to cause mischief or the Wizard to once more wreak havoc, the reserve Avenger has watched her share of kids' cartoons. The werewoman knows who the fictional Teen Titans are.

"Shall we get going?" Speed is likewise impatient.

"We can talk and walk," Avengers chairwoman Wasp leads her trio of the thick.

The forgetful four shuffle over the dirt trail in the humid air. Bruce is behind everyone else. He feels the scorching sun of summer upon his naked back. Wiping sweat, he speaks, "May I suggest something? Howabout we search our persons for identification—except for the two half-naked people, of course. That move would seem to be common sense."

"Indeed," Tommy indicates, "I already did a quick search of myself. My billfold has neither i.d. nor even cash."

Halting the group, Jan grumbles and frowns. She reaches into her bodice for an apparent bra wallet. She produces the designer leather and examines the interior. Wasp's frown becomes a scowl, and she stares daggers at the two men. Accusation in her eyes, she silently thrushes the emptied item forward.

"Do not look at me," Bruce says back, "I was nigh-submerged in the Mighty Mississippi."

"I am not fast in that way," Tommy claims.

"I believe him," Greer grants, "For example, no one ripped this tempting talisman from my cleavage, so no one seems to be either a thief or a pervert."

"Well, someone's a transgressor!" the Wondrous Wasp sets her hands akimbo.

Abruptly, an odd look crosses Jan's face. One (painted-on) brow raised, she reaches into her hip pocket. She produces an Avengers communicator.

"That ain't your average cellphone," Greer assesses, "Why would four anonymous joes have an Avengers communicator?"

Van Dyne simpers, "Well, I get the sense that I am a very important person. Simply consider my haute fashionable-yet-functional clothing, compared to the two bumpkins walking barefoot and getting sunburnt."

"UV rays do not scare me much," Banner informs.

"Besides, 'David' and I are dressed for swimming," Nelson nears van Dyne, "The young guy is too, although that is one odd wetsuit and choice of goggles. I deduce that we are quite possibly four dummies who chose a dangerous spot for a dip."

Wasp wags her chin, "Does that scenario sound really plausible to you?"

Tigra pauses. Momentarily, she admits "no". Under the hot sun, the cicadas' song fills the lugubrious silence between chaffed Jan and chagrined, chastised _cheri_ Greer. Tommy chews his lip and chops his thigh nervously.

"Okay, we are briefly baffled," Bruce breaks the silence, "Let us use that communicator to perhaps summon some help. The Avengers are our friends."

"Sure, Captain Ultra could fly here from Chicago," Greer scoffs, "I wish to God that Thor or the Cat still operated in Chi-Town." Ironically, Tigra _is_ the Cat.

"You must be confused," Bruce tells Greer, "Captain Ultra was the Avengers Initiative in Nebraska; the Spaceknights were Illinois. I read the newspaper."

"Whether Lincoln, Nebraska, or the Land of Lincoln, I at least made the link between the two," nettled Nelson retorts.

"Break it up," Wasp waves the communicator between the two parties, "Let us reach out and touch someone." The muddled middle-ager alludes to an ad stuck in old memory.

"Have you ever used your device before?" Speed asks.

"How would I know, dear?" irritated Wasp taps her head briskly. She either means that she forgets or that Tommy is dumb.

Jan's other hand methodically taps the device's touchscreen. Responding, the communicator beeps and sounds like it is connecting to someone. But, then the device doesn't sound right, and its "dial-up" sounds sick and failing. Bemused Jan brings the metallic disk closer to her gaze.

Suddenly, the instrument shorts-out in Jan's palm and gives Wasp a stinging shock. Instantly, it explodes too—inches from a fine face. Reflexively, the lady clenches her lids tight. The action saves her orbs but costs her an important sight. For a centisecond, the Avengers communicator decloaks into an Avengers Identicard, and that Identicard has Wasp's picture on it. It could have provided the confused cosmopolitan a big clue to her true identity as one of Earth's Mightiest Heroines. Avengers Identicards can electronically disguise themselves as other cards and small items (see _Nova _v. 5 #25). Both proud and flighty, Wasp thought it cute to conceal hers as an old-time Avengers communicator, something replaced long ago (see _Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur _#10).

Any antipathy aside, Greer moves immediately to aid Jan. Nelson checks her sister's besmirched mug. The lady looks more startled than hurt.

Beside Jan and Greer, the Fixer guffaws with great glee. But, no one hears him. The Master of Evil waves the widget that just fried the hardware. But, not one Avenger sees him feet abreast of Wasp. The old foe pockets the disrupter and drops back dramatically, but not even adept empiricist Banner detects Fixer disturbing the tall grass all around. The bad guy draws his blaster and feigns blowing-away each Avenger.

However, career criminal Norbert Ebersol guesses that he does not need the heat from ventilating a valued vigilante. By their nature, other Avengers would likely take vengeance. Plus, why bother shooting someone? Any ex-Thunderbolt knows that heroes return always anyway. You could throw a full onslaught at them. You could blow their heads off after blowing their minds; the Universe would bring them back.

Fixer strolls casually past Banner, at the back of the group, and continues his clandestine mission—although chuckling and chortling as he walks west. Thirty seconds later, Ebersol returns to Marvin Flumm floundering in the river's shore muck. The Mississippi provides some muddy water to cool Flumm's profusely perspiring face and to return him from the murk within his powerful mind. Mentallo leans a left hand on his removed helmet in the mud, and he kneels wobbly on his right knee, sinking slowly. The superlative psychic sways unsteadily as river ripples coming ashore slosh him. His right glove gingerly caresses his cranium as though he has the headache from hell and the world's worst hangover.

"Marvin, my boy, that was hilarious!" Bert hollers in his friend's ear. Fixer cackles cruelly.

Mentallo whimpers, "I'm glad that you liked that trick. I mindwiped the Hulk once before [see _Incredible Hulk _#403]."

"Yeah, for the Red Skull!" Fixer recalls the glorious tale.

Mentallo holds his own inflamed skull. The brain pants, "That time, though, I had days to break-down and brainwash Banner, one guy. I didn't have to fry four Avengers all at f***ing once. Just now, I may have suffered seventeen simultaneous cerebral aneurysms. It smarts severely."

Fixer does observe popped veins on Mentallo's visage, and he does notice nasal blood dripping (attracting horseflies). But, the evil genius sees no hemorrhage from the ears, so he figures that his evil psychic friend is approximately okay.

"I'm sure you'll be all right," Bert dismisses Marv's distress, "I'm sure that the headgear that I designed for you ages ago [see _Strange Tales _#141] helped. The Psycho-Helmet both enhances your awesome abilities and preserves your precious mind."

"Don't break your arm patting yourself on the back," sore Flumm is slightly surly.

Ebersol maintains his jovial mood. He continues to celebrate the veteran villains' little victory. He recounts the recent encounter, "I thought us so f***ing screwed today. Here we are meeting in hidden Harrisonville, Illinois, as discussed. We even have our full costumes on because only gnats and God are going to see us nefariously plotting."

Marvin interrupts, "Thanks for suggesting the close-fitting Mentallo outfit in this muggy weather, by the way. A**hole!"

Norbert rambles on, "Anyway, from out of nowhere, here in the middle of nowhere, the Avengers arrive. We hear a resounding stomp from furlongs away. And then, the Green Goliath appears against the bright blue sky. To our utter shock, the Hulk is coming. But, he ain't alone. My suit's sensors detect an incoming ground projectile before my organs possibly can."

"Fortunately, my hyper-aware mind senses everything at the speed of thought," Flumm interjects again, "Subconsciously, I sensed Speed, Tigra in his arms, and Wasp whizzing in behind them before I was even consciously aware. Intuitively, my great gift grabbed their heads and seized their psyches."

"Yeah! Like that," Fixer flicks his fingers, "The humongous Hulk enervates in mid-air and hits the Mississippi soup from eight yards up. Speed stops short of us and skids to an abrupt halt standing suddenly stiff as a board. He releases Tigra who somersaults swiftly past us but lands on her feet exactly at the shore. And, as Hulk shrinks, Wasp enlarges, alights on the soil, and strikes a still pose."

"Yeah, I zonked all of them and cancelled their powers," Mentallo summarizes.

With a broad smile, Ebersol savors the moment for a few ticks more. Then, Fixer grips Flumm by the pits and raises him. He states, "We need to get to f*** out of here before the so-called 'heroes' rally, like they always do."

"Good thinking," Mentallo acknowledges that the scoundrels should wisely skedaddle.

"Although the Avengers shouldn't rally too soon," Fixer fetches the Psycho-Helmet from the filth, "I took steps to impede the amnesiacs. I took some hot items while they were temporarily frozen. I had time to steal to Janet van Dyne's driver's license, credit cards—and cash. My sticky fingers found them where I figured she would conceal them. And, I stole Speed's Avengers card, any other identification—and cash."

"An Avengers Identicard very likely has a tracking device," woozy Mentallo mentions.

"It does. One from Stark International," Fixer shrugs, "But, Stark tech is no match for old Techno himself, me. We shall simply carry the card with us for a bit. It will ping in Harrisonville and then St. Louis, where we are. Any Avengers dispatcher figures that Speed and the gang are facing villains at those two locations. The four seem to be simply completing their mission. Soon after, the Identicard will indicate that it returns to New York because I have reprogrammed it to appear to be returning northeast at a Quinjet's pace."

"Any Avengers in Manhattan may be fooled. They won't come a-running," Mentallo doffs his cleaned helmet, "Good thinking."

Fixer taps a button on his own headgear, "Let us sneak-off to St. Louis then."

From the obscuring murk, a mini-sub emerges from the Mississippi. Fixer placed it at this isolated spot so that two supervillains, in full costume, could travel unmolested in style to St. Louis a little ways northwest. He even thought to give the craft hovering ability so that it could fly to land instead of users wading to it, and he even designed its hovering ability to be much quieter than most civilian or military hovercraft.

Mentallo and Fixer get in and escape.

A short distance yon, the confused continue conferencing while trekking through woods.

Bruce Banner considers, "As we have noted, this excursion does not seem like a planned beach party." Sylvan shade cools the Hulk's head a bit, although the August air is still cooking.

Tommy Shepherd contributes, "Yeah, we have no food, lemonade, radio, towels, or flip-flops." Crows caw ominously overhead.

Greer Nelson communicates, "I wish that we did have some clothes. Much as I normally love walking around half-naked." Stones and twigs affect her feet.

Branches catch and rip Wasp's sleeve. Jan van Dyne cracks, "Well, tiger, out here, there are some disadvantages to an expensive outfit."

Hulk frees his fellow founding Avenger. Tigra pads past into the open area beyond the woods. She pauses immediately. The others arrive, and she points to a plane of some sort on a farmer's fallow field.

Jan comments, "Hmph, that's a fancy flying machine. 'Tis not a plain plane." On this odd day, the Quinjet is something new to her.


	2. Chap 2: Mirth and Pie

**Chapter** **2: Mirth and Pie**

"Well, it has a big A on its ass," observes Greer. Her companions and she stand half-stumped before the Quinjet.

"The empennage, or tail assembly, does in fact have an Avengers emblem on the fin," Bruce acknowledges.

"Should we approach it?" Greer suggests.

"Are any of us Avengers?" Tommy asks.

"I apparently know the Avengers," Jan pompously places her hand to her heart.

"I hope that they show-up soon," Shepherd shakes his head "Where are some superheroes when you need them?"

Nelson nods, "I hear you."

"Maybe, they are in Harrisonville," van Dyne voices.

"Where in Little Egypt is that?" Banner beseeches.

"Well, that way," Jan points to a street sign on a rusty pole before a dirt road. It reads 'Harris Road'. Along the road, within sight, a rotting and weathered arrow hangs from a post before a wheat field, across from the fallow field. It says 'Harrisonville'. The town near the river is Harrisonville.

"Let's move along," Speed suggests.

Thirty miles north, thirty minutes later, Fixer and Mentallo disembark their vessel in Cherokee Cave beneath St. Louis' Marine Villa neighborhood. The cavern was a tourist attraction until the early 1960s when the government closed and flooded the natural cave. Overhead, I-55 runs. A person can almost hear it below. Echoing, Fixer's boots hit cruddy steel stairs beside the surfaced boat. In the sub's artificial light, Mentallo examines the dilapidated surroundings, half-submerged and half-manifest.

"These steps lead to an abandoned building above," Norbert explains the structure, "They lead us to where our employer has nicely left us some street clothes to change into. Our boss has even left the clothes inside some fine luggage into which we may put our current costumes."

"How considerate," Marvin comments, "Who is our employer?"

"The Commission on Superhuman Activities," Fixer answers—astounding his compatriot.

"W-w-what? We're felons working for the f***ing feds?!" Flumm is flummoxed.

Ebersol informs the flabbergasted, "Yeah, I was supposed to fib to you. I was supposed to spin some cover-story about our former mutual associate the Masked Marauder retaining us to fetch something in St. Louis. The Masked Marauder is supposedly dead [see _Punisher War Journal _v. 2 #4], so you could never confirm whether he hired us or not."

"But, you chose not to lie to your old buddy," Flumm feels flattered.

"Something like that," Fixer's shoulder-lamp illuminates the way upstairs, "I trust you more than I do Uncle Sam. And, I have for a long time. Through the years, we have often plotted against the government together."

Mentallo is momentarily silent, and the blackguards' ascending boots are temporarily the only sound. The duo reaches the door at ground level. Marvin inquires, "Why would Washington employ two reprobates such as us?"

"We are acquiring something from AIM for the CSA," Norbert answers, "Known criminals can interact with AIM without raising suspicion that the Avengers, for example, cannot."

"But, is the CSA not too suspicious of us, in turn?" Mentallo wonders, "We have extensive records of treasonous espionage, as you mention."

"The Thunderbolts have an ally inside the organization," Fixer informs, "She got us the job." The lead man opens the door and steps through. Fixer speaks of one Dallas Riordan, long-time Thunderbolts cohort. She tends to be morally flexible.

His companion dallies a few seconds. Mentallo appears to really ponder something. He scratches the goatee on his chinny-chin-chin.

"We're working with the feds? That's—interesting," Mentallo comments. He warily follows his friend into the abandoned museum.

The empty landmark is full of stinking, stagnant air aggravated by broiling heat. Instantly, the Masters of Evil perspire profusely and breathe raggedly as the audible skittering of cockroaches accompanies their misery. Holding his nose, Fixer scans the spoiled space. He finds a mildewed countertop upon which to set his suitcase. Latches pop, and he points to the apparel within. Mentallo susses that, the sooner that they are in street clothes, the sooner the supervillains can be out on the open street. Soon after, Cherokee Street offers open, fresh air.

"Let me summon a cab," Techno brandishes a common cellphone, "We can take I-55 northbound to our accommodations downtown."

Northwest of downtown St. Louis, Lambert International Airport operates. There, a man awaits his valise at a carousel. Paul Pierre Duval is stone-faced behind his dark cheaters. Through his shades, the Grey Gargoyle stiffly studies the scene of tourists, business travelers, and military personnel at this transit point. The incognito outlaw appears just another traveler amongst the throng. His skin is pink and only his grizzled hair is grey. But, Duval's thoughts are black.

In this case, the Gargoyle is mad that AIM had him fly commercial when the moneyed organization could have sent a private aircraft. When communicating, AIM contact Eve Necker explained that her people could not send a shuttle, however. AIM's St. Louis operations try to stay off the radar. Still, the French fiend is pissed. Gargoyle's hard grip grasps his holdall's handle. And, in a huff, he hurries for the airport exit.

Outside, Duval enters the white zone for loading and unloading passengers. He stops in surprise. Dr. Necker stands beside a Stark luxury sedan. Smile upon her lips, she silently opens a back door.

"Merci, moi cheri," Dr. Duval is slightly assuaged. He amiably accepts the polite gesture.

"Welcome to Missouri," the lovely redhead motions him in.

"Please feel neither peeved nor peckish, Grey Gargoyle," a bespectacled Brit grabs the suitcase with one hand and offers a packaged fruit pie with the other.

The hostess cringes at her assistant announcing Paul Pierre's secret identity in the open. "Pardon my minion," Eve requests.

The English attendant drops the baggage in the auto's "boot" and brings himself to the driver's door. The Frenchman places his posterior in the backseat. There, an African-American man extends a hand in greeting from beside Duval.

"Hello, I am Curtis Carr," the existing occupant confidently seizes a palm that can literally petrify a man.

Gargoyle's gloved hand gives a hearty shake. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Chemistro."

One nefarious chemist recognizes an infamous other—although the former is surprised to see this Carr occupying an AIM car. Duval knows that there are two Chemistros who are siblings: Curtis and Calvin Carr. But, he could swear that Curt is the original bad guy who is now a good guy and that Cal is the one who remains actively "evil". But . . . Grey Gargoyle could have rocks in his head.

Suddenly, the servant driver pokes his head from the front seat. "I'm Duffy," he introduces himself with a flat affect.

In the close quarters, Duval notices significant scars adorning Duffy's scalp and forehead. Behind glasses, the gofer has a glazed gaze and bloodshot eyes. Paul wonders if neuro-roboticist Eve has been experimenting.

"Nathanial," Necker addresses Duffy, "Drive us downtown to where we meet Fixer and Mentallo tomorrow."

"Yes, as you command," the servant swivels his head to twelve o'clock and starts the sedan.

Nate cracks open a can of suds, beer. He chugs it while cruising toward I-70. He cracks another cold one once speeding down the fast and furious interstate, abuzz with traffic. From behind, Paul eyes the open container. However, he knows that Gargoyle is unlikely to crack in any crash. And, he notices that Carr and Necker are, oddly, perfectly calm around this AIM eccentric and his alcohol consumption. The rocky rogue relaxes down the road.

Elsewhere, an Avenger panics a wee. Amnesiac Wasp ejaculates, "Aaah! I feel like Michelle Pfeiffer in Batman Returns! I cannot get my head right!" van Dyne rips hairs forth.

"Babe, don't muss your darling 'do in the muggy air," catty Greer grins, "We'll figure-out our fix."

Semi-nude Nelson fixes her bra and savors the hot breeze upon her face. Tacitly Tigra, she stretches her exposed toned form like a tabby and runs her fingers through her lush locks. The sunshine shimmers upon her moist black tresses, and it blazes over her bare baking body. To the left, Tommy titters sheepishly.

Beside her, breathless Bruce beholds her almost as beautiful as Betty has ever been. Then, he wonders "Who's Betty?"

"I bet he," Greer points over yon, "could help us."

Her three companions take a look up Harrisonville's main "drag". The unincorporated community is a wide spot in the road, so all Harrisonville businesses are along one road amidst farms. And, Walnut Road has only one business upon it—a roadhouse for any wanderer traveling rural Illinois Route 156. And, Dad's Tavern has but one "he" to whom a werewoman could be pointing. Some stranger in an altered Captain America suit stares their way. He wears Old Glory's colors on a mostly black outfit out in the scorching August heat. Over the highway asphalt, his image is distorted in the brutal temperature, but the four wayfarers are certain that he is not a mirage.

Standing at attention, U.S. Agent is unsure whether his eyes deceive him. Wasp and Speed appear attired for enemy encounter. But, they are neither pursuing Fixer and Mentallo nor bringing the two evil-doers in. Bruce Banner and Greer Nelson do not look ready for action at all. John Walker wonders "what gives?" and strolls toward them.

Agent asks, "Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on? Where are Fixer and Mentallo?"

"Could you tell us what the hell is going on?" Bruce replies, "And, who _are_ Fixer and Mentallo?"

"Yeah, tell us. For example, could this Mentallo fellow mend our mental Jello?" Speed raps his head.

"Perhaps, you could help us," Greer suggests, "You do look like that Captain America guy."

"Otherwise, could the Fixer fix us?" Jan questions.

"I suspect that he—or his buddy—already did," John rolls his eyes.

An adept strategist, U.S. Agent knows his enemies. The super-soldier suspects that Mentallo or Fixer botched the bunch's brains as Mentallo messed-up Banner's mind once before. Well, Banner/Hulk has already a fubar mind, but John's thoughts know what they mean.

"You four idiots had better come with me" Agent offers, "You can trust me. I'm kind of like Captain America—but more effective and kick-ass."

"It is good that you ape the Captain," Jan sashays forward, "I am connected to the Avengers."

"Well, no s***, Wasp!" U.S. Agent about-faces on Illinois 156. He marches for Dad's Tavern.

Behind him, genteel Jan is aghast and considers leaving this whole herd of hillbillies. They seem small compared to Wasp. However, Wasp also hears the buzz of Dad's huge air conditioner. Peeling the gloves from her perspiring hands, refined van Dyne reckons that it is awfully hot and that she is awfully thirsty. Perhaps, she could follow the "hillbillies", two unshod, into the watering hole.

"No shirt. No shoes. No problem" reads the painted plywood sign outside of the agrarian establishment. Tigra and Hulk hoof it right in while courteous Shepherd holds the screendoor without and Southerner Walker holds the solid door within. Wasp walks past without thanking either.

Within, Dad's Tavern is dimly lit, but it is not dingy for an old place. Soda-pop sits in a standing glass cooler. Fluorescent tubes hang over expansive picnic tables between a bar and a dance floor. A vintage juke box complements the lights and floor from a corner. Over the bar, there is a drink and food menu that is pretty basic: beer and soda, burgers and dogs, fries. Off to the side, swinging doors go into a kitchen. In the wall, rickety restroom doors stand.

There is no "Dad", or anyone else, in the place though. Detective Nelson finds that absence odd. Thus, the curious Cat queries Cap, "Where is everybody?"

"I told the owner and his one patron to evacuate," John's voice echoes, "I informed them that the area was due for an Avengers battle."

"Really? Which Avengers were anticipated around here?" all-wet Wasp asks. Perspiration drips off an apparent ditz.

U.S. Agent shakes his annoyed head. "You guys are the Avengers," he informs.

"Heh-heh. Does she look like an Avenger?" Greer juts a nail at Jan. The keratin cover extends and sharpens slightly.

U.S. Agent points to the W on the "well-bred" woman's chest, "She is the Wasp. I called her that outside too."

"What did you call me?" offput van Dyne shakes sweaty raiment in the a.c. output. Beneath her thick make-up, her cerebrum continues to cook with some heat exhaustion—and some Mentallo assault.

"I said that you are Janet van Dyne, the Wasp, founding member of the Avengers," U.S. Agent states, "And, slim over there is Bruce Banner, the Hulk, also a founding Avengers member."

Amused, amnesiac Bruce guffaws, "Heh-heh-heh-heh. Yeah, I'm really the Green Goliath. Can't you tell?" He flexes. Amazed, Banner beholds biceps and pecs engorged with muscle, at Agent's suggestion. Agape, the scientist watches them instantly enervate back to normal.

Semi-stunned, Banner stumbles toward the bar. "Banner get smashed," 'David' says in a husky voice, "It worked for my father."

Suddenly, like a mother cat, Greer bounds the bar and fetches Bruce a beer like a queen does her kittens. She strokes his hair to calm and comfort him. However, the kind woman also bats "freaky" feline (not human) eyes at him, and this startling metamorphosis disquiets the scientist all the more.

Agent observes, "You are Tigra, my West Coast Avengers teammate."

"I was a Waco too—I think," Wasp communicates from near the soda cooler. She hopes it holds mineral water instead of just common cola.

"You must not have made much of an impression on me," John is frank.

"You must not have made much of an impression on me either," Jan is blunt back.

"Do you have any money?" Tommy interrupts the two. Browsing a countertop, Speed has spotted desired refreshments. He could use some renewed energy and rehydration.

"Sure, Speed," Agent calls Shepherd by name, "I insisted that Dad's mom leave some apple pie and iced tea for us. Have some free all-American ade to wash down what would have been a victory snack if you guys had delivered two deviants."

"Those two deviants are the aforementioned Fixer and Mentallo, correct?" flighty Wasp asks.

"Yeah, lady," Cap confirms, "Y'all seem to have already encountered them today."

"Well, 'Avengers' assemble," the ex-chairwoman enjoins everyone to plop posteriors at a picnic table. Promptly, everyone—except U.S. Agent—does.

Standing, Walker proposes, "Tell me everything that you four DO remember about this mission. Debrief." Greer giggles, for the nature girl imagines everyone de-briefing.

"I mean to bring me up to speed!" the speaker snaps. Shepherd now smirks.

"You vulgarians need to settle-down," Jan adjures all, "As my husband Hank Pym would recommend, let us be productive and purposeful as Aesop's ant."

"I think that I have a kid by your Hank Pym," Tigra blurts. She strokes the fine orange hairs of her chinny-chin-chin. Then, they simply disappear.

"Well, aren't you catty," Wasp whiffs, "William Grant Nelson was fathered by a Skrull imposter posing as a paramour Pym."

"Psst! You and Dr. Pym are divorced anyway—if memory serves," the Cat swishes her "tail" in her seat.

"Not that any of us remember much," Speed shrugs.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let us determine what we do definitely remember," Dr. Banner becomes the voice of reason.

"I may remember flying over wheat fields then woods," Jan begins, "If I am Wasp, I could do that."

Bruce offers, "I may vaguely recall leaping over the forest before bobbing in the mighty Mississippi."

"The Hulk could leap like that," Nelson notes.

No one utters anything next. Bruce kneads his noggin, massaging further memory. Thinking, Tommy taps his knuckles nervously. Seemingly vacant, van Dyne stares at the ceiling. Staring vacantly, Nelson licks her sweaty arm as though casually cleaning. She nimbly lifts her naked calf to her face and nibbles at it . . . . .

Walker takes over, "Howabout I share what s*** I know while you scatterbrains get a grip. I summoned you to St. Louis because Fixer and Mentallo may be abetting AIM in something sordid. . . . ."

Elsewhere. "What are we doing for AIM?" Marvin Flumm asks across the table. The Rowen Hotel serves fine peach pie in its restaurant.

"You're asking in public?" Norbert Ebersol asks back.

Mentallo assures, "I mind-probed the wait staff and fellow patrons. They are all the types to mind their own business even if they overhear supervillains' nefarious plans."

Fixer chuckles, "You gotta love big cities where no one cares about Masters of Evil."

"Be nice. Urban areas simply altruistically offer opportunities to everyone, including degenerates," the brain quips.

"In your case, St. Louis will offer a chance to mind-probe people for money," the genius explicates, "I need you to monitor the AIM operatives with whom we meet tomorrow. Our business exchange should go more smoothly for having you spy inside AIM heads."

"I can see whether our fellow bad guys plan a double-cross or something," Mentallo guesses.

"Sure," Fixer grants.

"Plus, information is power, and power is what business is all about," the telepath talks.

"Look at the head on this guy!" one big head compliments another.

"So, what is our devious business?" Flumm inquires.

"Only the Elements of Doom," Ebersol declares. Then, Fixer debriefs Mentallo on tomorrow morning's plans.

Afterward, Marvin claims that he is still hungry following dessert. He would like to score some pizza pie too, but it is unavailable at the luxury hotel. He must jaunt down the street.

Bert believes that his longtime cohort is b. about something, but Fixer trusts Mentallo, for the most part. Techno bids the telepath adieu and heads for his evening accommodations.

Outside, Mentallo moseys down Memorial Drive toward the river. Over the Mississippi, Mentallo's extraordinary mind reaches out to another superlative psyche. MODOK answers his unusual associate. Across the sky, an immense image of AIM's abominable head forms, visible only to Mentallo. Ever upon his throne, the Doomsday Chair housing him, MODOK spans and supplants the Gateway Arch before Marvin. Burning eyes blink once—bidding Mentallo to speak.

Silently, the psychic converses via psionics, "Scientist Supreme, Fixer seemingly suspects nothing."

"So, Ebersol does not surmise a quisling in his midst?" MODOK quizzes.

"No, Fixer might not be that quick," Mentallo muses, "He reckons that he has my loyalty more than AIM. Although, he knows that I was recently AIM's Minister of Public Affairs for about a year and that I was on your MODOK's 11 heist crew awhile back."

"Fixer even got you that burglary job," MODOK comments.

"Buddy Bert is a good friend," Mentallo acknowledges, "He even got me this current espionage gig."

The Scientist Supreme solicits, "For whom do Fixer and you work? Has he said?"

"He has," Mentallo states, "We purchase AIM goods for the CSA, the Commission on Superhuman Activities."

"What the-?! The government?!" MODOK mugs high in the sky. He loudly laughs over St. Louis.

"Yeah," Mentallo sighs. He shakes his (disgusted) head.

The prime unit directs the double-agent, "Do not let Fixer know that we of AIM know anything." MODOK exits into the ether.

A short distance away, Norbert Ebersol enters a hotel other than his current one. An elevator takes him to the fourth floor. There, a door opens, and CSA operative Barney Fiddler beckons Fixer inside. On the dresser, a government laptop provides a secure video conference with CSA Chair Dallas Riordan. She knows Techno from the Thunderbolts. During the video chat, Fixer compliments Mentallo highly. He says that his fast friend should be but an asset at tomorrow's exchange. Pal Flumm may well protect Fixer from MODOK and AIM.


	3. Chap 3: Sigh

**Chapter 3: Sigh**

While supervillains sleep in St. Louis, U.S. Agent paces a USAF hanger in western Illinois. Scott Air Force Base billets the befuddled Avengers and temporarily houses the Quinjet. The super-soldier is not pleased that he must hide here while so many curious airmen must keep the Avengers' presence classified. He has a covert operation to run goddammit!

But, U.S. Agent also counts his blessings. The USAF's Gen. Halstan asked few questions when fellow Commission member Orville Sanderson contacted him on Walker's behalf. Halstan simply authorized the plane storage and guest lodgings. He even quietly provided Banner and Nelson some damn clothes in their sizes. The general even thanked Sanderson for letting him be of service.

Now, U.S. Agent needs Sanderson to be of further service. Sighing, Walker reluctantly dials Sanderson in the middle of the night. The g-man answers.

"Oh, you're up," Agent remarks.

"Indeed," Orville answers, "The FBI never sleeps. Don't you know?"

"I'm glad that the bureau has my back," U.S. states, "I need a favor."

"What could you possibly need, Mr. Walker?" wonders his CSA contact, "I have already provided you top secret information about my higher-up's illegal activities. Then, I got you haven when your covert operation fouled. And currently, I exhibit great patience when you again contact me—at midnight EDT no less—during your secret mission."

"Well, all of that acknowledged, I need a further favor," U.S. Agent replies.

"What?" Sanderson spits out.

"My forces are sad sacks right now," the super-soldier explains, "The four had their brains scrambled by Mentallo or Fixer. Not one exactly remembers who he or she is. None of them can purposefully access his powers. Hulk and Tigra do not even look titanic and tigrine presently."

"Have you tried jiggling the jewel on Nelson's cleavage?" Orville inquires.

"Ah, nah, a Georgia gentleman would not do that," John rolls his eyes, "Listen, I have an AIM-Masters of Evil meeting to disrupt in eleven hours. At this conference, there are guaranteed to be Fixer, Mentallo, AIM, any metahumans working for AIM, an Element of Doom, possibly MODOK should he sneak into the hotel, possibly the AIM WMD detected by the FBI, and any surprise guests who show-up in the usual marvelous way. I cannot just catch everyone in an elevator, ask 'Okay, who wants to get off?', and then kick the crowd's collective ass. I need help."

Huffing, Sanderson cogitates a moment. He replies, "Fine, the FBI has used specialists Misty Knight, American Eagle, Crimson Commando, and Arachne for previous missions. I can see what cavalry one can raise on short notice."

"Much obliged," U.S. Agent assesses, "Spider-Woman is welcome in any of my adventures. Julia Carpenter and I have often worked together. Misty Knight and American Eagle are cool too."

"However, Crimson Commando causes you concern," Orville catches.

"A little bit," Agent acknowledges, "And maybe, he shouldn't. After all, I have worked with the Punisher and lethal protectors. I have killed enemies and been a rough type myself."

"However, you do not work with vigilantes and soldiers who are ultimately villains, not on the side of the angels," the FBI man further analyzes the Super-Patriot.

"Correct."

"Do not worry about it. I do not either," Sanderson assures, "Why do you think I whistle-blow on CSA Director Riordan? Undoubtedly, she has good reasons for acquiring the Element of Doom from AIM in St. Louis. Surely, she acts in the best interest of the United States. But, a righteous lawman cannot allow her to use supervillains on a path paved with good intentions."

"Yeah, I know. CSA members have hired too many miscreants over time," Agent expounds on the topic, "Val Cooper employed Freedom Force, the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. Gen. Haywerth and Henry Peter Gyrich have unleashed mad-dogs Nuke and the Sentinels on the public. Late Commissioner Douglas Rockwell was a Red Skull puppet. And, as a group, the Commission has collaborated with the likes of Power Broker, Green Goblin, the Deathweb assassins, the mob, and Baron Zemo."

"We have even dared directing such loose cannons as Juggernaut and Taskmaster," Sanderson adds.

"Anyway, neither of us cotton Dallas Riordan dallying with degenerates. The American government can do better," U.S. Agent states.

Sanderson responds, "Right. It sickens me that we good guys would send felon Fixer and fiend Mentallo into Missouri to mayhap muster their usual misery."

The super-soldier snickers. "Yeah, where's Missouri's Plainsman when you need him?" Walker wonders, "Show me."

"Who is the Plainsman?" Sanderson wonders.

John sighs, "Some minor hero who died fighting the Looter, of all people. His body dropped from the Gateway Arch to the Mississippi below [see _The Superior Foes of Spider-Man _#11]. It's a shame not to have him here. The Plainsman probably knew the territory."

"I see," says Sanderson, "I shall seek you some help. Stay safe." The contact concludes the call.

Pacing peds pivoting, U.S. Agent turns around. The super-soldier startles. Somehow, Greer Nelson has snuck-up on him like a feline in the night. John perks-up with surprise. Greer perks-up her ears.

"Somehow, I just overheard your entire conversation from my room," she states, "So, I padded to your position, curious with some questions so that I don't get killed come the morn."

"What do you need to know?" he queries the cat-woman considering him like quarry.

"I would like to know, for example, what we know about AIM's secret weapon that you mentioned," Nelson says.

Walker watches the werewoman with interest. Before his eyes, her raven hair reddens rapidly, almost to orange. U.S. Agent responds, "The FBI intercepted AIM chatter that the subversive scientists sneak something big along the floor of the Mississippi. But, surveillance satellites show nothing. Still, I brought the Hulk into our strike team because AIM is calling this giant threat 'Fin Fang Foom'! I pray that that is just a codename."

Abruptly, orange eyebrows arch, "The old Iron Man foe?" Greer Nelson is impressed by both the name mentioned and that she remembered her Avengers Files.

U.S. Agent's eyebrows instantly rise also. Greer has become Tigra before his very eyes. He cracks a smile, for he seemingly has at least one Avenger able to aid him. He would pet the furry crimefighter if he could. But, he simply debriefs her instead.

To the northwest, midnight arrives in Missouri. On a St. Louis rooftop, the Plainsman peers through a telescope from the Allan Hotel to the grand Rowen Hotel housing Fixer, Mentallo, Grey Gargoyle, and whomever. The terrifically tech-enhanced telescope gives him a schematic of the skyscraper's interior, and it offers the heat signatures of all who have one.

Plainsman lowers the glass. He comments to his companion, "Well, I have reconnoitered the situation, and I reckon that a scout still doesn't know the whole country."

His companion is Barney Fiddler on the roof. "What?" asks Agent Fiddler.

"I do not know everything that I would wish to," the one man states more plainly.

"Oh," Barney answers, "What intelligence have you gathered?"

"Plain as day, I can see that Mentallo sleeps peacefully on the Rowen's seventh floor. He gives a nice thermal image," the spy informs the spy, "In the adjacent room, your man Fixer flits in and out of the picture like'n he has tech interfere'n with my own."

"Ebersol's measures are no surprise," Fiddler acknowledges, "Any intelligencer knows to jam potential surveillance equipment, and a super-genius knows how to jam even CSA gadgets."

"Let us not consternate," says Plainsman, "I'll be observing him in-person soon enough."

"Yeah, you'll be in the room with Fixer and Mentallo when the big buy occurs," the handler recognizes, "I want a 'good guy' watching the two renowned goons tomorrow. Dallas Riordan is a fool for habitually trusting the Thunderbolts like she does."

"Never ask why rattlesnakes bite ya. They're rattlers," the reconnoiterer references an old fable.

"What else do we know about our den of vipers?" Fiddler fingers the Rowen.

Plainsman guides him, "The Grey Gargoyle, Paul Pierre Duval, is also in yon skyscraper. Like Norbert Ebersol, I can't rightly get a fix on him half o' the time, for he lacks a proper heat signature, being a stone gargoyle and all."

"Is he also on the seventh floor, near Fixer and Mentallo?" Fiddler asks.

"Nah, he has got the penthouse seven stories o'er the seventh story. He is top floor," Plainsman replies.

Barney cogitates and then conjectures, "Duval does not seem to be collaborating with the other two. Perhaps, he is staying hidden so that his presence is a surprise later. AIM may want some kind of ace-in-the-hole at the meeting."

"AIM operatives are the only folks been visiting him all day," the scout communicates, "The telescope gave me facial recognition of one Evelyn Necker, her Igor assistant Nathanial Duffy, and Curtis Carr, a.k.a. Chemistro. They accompanied Duval to his chamber this afternoon.

"This evening, Necker and Duffy checked-out the second-floor meeting room reserved for tomorrow morning. Carr went to the basement by a maintenance elevator that no guest would be using. Then, he disappeared from my scope's sight.

"I figured that his actions were kinda funny, so I descended to the St. Louis storm sewers via the basement in this here Allan establishment. Sure enough, my tracking instincts were right. AIM has engineered a tunnel off of the Rowen Hotel underground. It probably leads to one of those underground lairs that marvelous mudsills are fond of. I did not trek in though."

"You were probably wise not to," Fiddler comments, "AIM could have MODOK or a giant dragon or who-knows-what down there."

Plainsman points to a significant scar at his hairline, "A man is wiser after Looter partially shoots his brains out. I am a better benevolent bad-ass now."

Barney nods, "I remember when the CSA got you. You were out of commission, with an incomplete head and bunches of broken bones. Dr. Wilcox did a great job rebuilding you like one of his Deathloks."

"Certainly," Plainsman pats his scar, "A cyborg has circuits instead of just neurons, for example. So, he hinders Mentallo's mesmerism more easily than the next man. If necessary in the morn."

"Noted," Barney concedes, "However, be careful. Fixer could still technically hijack your head and zombify you, much as I hope that doesn't happen."

"Well, he would get an Arkansas toothpick for his troubles!" the wired warrior brandishes an electrified Bowie blade. It burns ominously.


	4. Chap 4: What Money Can Buy

**Chapter 4: What Money Can Buy**

Six hours since Plainsman and Fiddler rendezvoused on the roof, Marvin Flumm stirs his coffee after stirring from bed. He stares out the window across Gateway Arch National Park. As dawn arrives, he examines the eastern sky above the Mississippi River. Over Illinois, the early light is a rich red that crimsons the grizzled criminal's visage through the wafting water vapor of his grounds. Flumm sips, and his cheeks scarlet with the outdoors.

Mentallo speaks over his shoulder, "Thanks for the brew, bro. It goes to my brain." Fixer fetched the strong Sumatran java from a local donut shop.

"Good," Fixer finishes his own breakfast, "We need your formidable brain fully active in about 3.5 hours. The meeting is at ten hundred."

"Hmph," the psychic continues to ponder the dawn, "You know, they say 'Red sky at night, sailor's delight. But, red sky in morning, sailor take warning'. We shall see if we have smooth sailing today or if we have a storm."

"Well, St. Louie is going to have a helluva thunder-boomer by evening," forecasts Fixer, "especially because it is hotter than a f***ing Inferno out there already before seven a.m."

"Good tornado weather," Marvin adds.

Bert appraises, "But, we don't need to give a fetid fig about the coming fracas, for we can finish our business and then boogie for home."

"Hmph," Marvin repeats.

Mentallo casually breakfasts on baklava. The Turkish treat tastes splendid as the supervillain starts his day of dirty deeds, and the Resistant would dally a bit before showering and suiting-up. Marvin Flumm would settle his mind before the conclave, and he considers finding an early newspaper to quietly peruse instead of even turning-on the morning news. Too few folks still appreciate print over video.

Ebersol interrupts Flumm's rumination, "The CSA is sending someone to aid us today. The Plainsman is the man's name."

"Hmph, never heard of him," veteran Mentallo surveys the red sky this morning.

Minimal miles east, U.S. Agent asks four Avengers, "What's your name?"

"The Avengers," Wasp whiffs, "I originally gave the group that name."

"I vaguely recall that first adventure," Bruce Banner adds, "No doubt, Hulk remembers it clearly, for he was more present."

"That's great, Banner. Could you please show me the Hulk?" Agent entreats.

"Well, I'm in a good mood right now," the unassuming scientist smirks sheepishly.

"Really?" Walker.

"Plus, I have been trying like blazes all morning to transform, and I can't," Bruce admits.

"Is trying like blazes making you sweat?" Walker notices Banner's wet brow and shirt.

The "milksop" mops his mug, "No. Mostly, it is that it is baking out here already at seven a.m."

The group stands openly on the Arlington Greens golf course in Granite City, IL, a St. Louis suburb. Except for Bruce, their garb gives them a garishness before the groundskeepers preparing the area for the day. The staff keeps its distance from the costumed crew looking like freakin' weirdos. Also, Tigra looks like a lycanthrope.

Wasp continues the conversation, "The TV news says that there is a heat advisory today."

"I read such in the paper," Tigra contributes.

Speed pumps his fist, "May the only heat advisory be that we advise the villains that we bring the heat!"

U.S. Agent rolls his eyes. The disgusted Georgian snorts hard and spits goober on the grass. He states, "I can't have you guys being goofy. I can't have you a-holes being addled. We have two masters' evil activities to arrest and a ton of AIM actors accompanying them. Neither the heat nor Mentallo nor nothing else can be botching your brains and abilities right now. You have to show me what you even half-way have."

"I can do that," Tigra declares, "I'm alright. Nobody worry about me."

Across the golf course, Tigra sprints like a beast for tall beeches bordering the open lawn. She leaps far up a towering trunk and frolics in its foliage, limberly flipping her lithe form from bough to bough. For fun, the kitty careens to the adjacent beech and sticks her strong claws into its bark. Suspended by the nails, Tigra swings her right hand to a thick branch and effortlessly fractures wood. Then she plants her right, swipes her left, and severs a thinner limb. Caterwauling, the wild woman releases herself and drops. Her clawed hands and feet shred beechwood all of the way down, spraying a storm of chunks and splinters. Under boughs, she takes a bow.

The observing groundskeepers may not like the scene, but U.S. Agent sure does.

The Captain calls, "Good going, Greer! Glad to see you back!"

"I am next!" Wasp will not be upstaged.

Jan jumps in the air and activates powers appropriately. She shrinks. She springs little wings. She starts to soar, stingers sizzling—before everything fizzles in an instant. Wide-eyed, the proud heroine plummets thirteen feet. And, irked Agent does not even move to catch her. Perhaps, he hopes that Speed will step in. In a blink, Tommy catches his endangered companion and gently plants her boots.

Before blushing Jan can utter excuses, Tommy announces, "Now, I'm next."

Like Missouri's Whizzer, Speed bolts into a blur crossing the golf course. In seconds, he circles the entire expanse several times while others watch Robert Frank's (the Whizzer's) supposed descendant. Then, his powers crap-out. . . . .

Speed suddenly slows severely, and he stumbles and skids along the turf. A staff cart clips him, spinning him about. Annoyed, Shepherd summons back his speed, and he supernaturally skims across a water trap—until his feet fail again. Speed splashes sloppily below the surface and slams the bottom silt. Jan gasps and goes to aid him, as he did her. However, the resilient racer rises right away. After wiping besmirched goggles, he vibrates like an earthquake and soundly agitates the soil from his person.

U.S. Agent assesses his crew. This striketeam seems but half-ready and, therefore, but half-assed. However, he has human hazards to halt in St. Louis, and Earth's Mightiest Heroes often prevail despite a few hiccups. The super-soldier decides that the Avengers must advance across the river, where the Rowen rises like a redoubt to siege. With a hardy "yo!", the Captain motions for his teammates to huddle-up. He drapes his arms over his brothers-in-arms Bruce and Tommy. In turn, Banner drapes van Dyne and Shepherd hooks Nelson. Jan joins with Greer.

Encircled, the assembled Avengers eye each other. They wonder what plan that Jan or John might propose, for three Avengers are not their usual superlative selves. Semi-effective saviors seem silly to send to St. Louis. So, everyone wonders whether everyone is going at all.

Agent answers their mutual tacit concern, "Clearly, we ain't one hundred percent this morning. But, bad guys tend to be ultimately zeros anyway. So, do the math. We're number one. Those zeros are number two. So, our all-American character, if nothing else, makes us twice the characters that they are every time."

"That is true," Tigra supplements the pep talk, "Tigra and U.S. Agent can ruin a room of rogues ourselves if we must, and we likely do not have to. Avengers beat the odds all of the time, and champions rise to the challenge of their rivals, especially I of the Tigra." The Cat Person caresses her titular talisman.

"You will not be alone," Wasp assures, "I bring my seasoned brains to battle if not my full abilities."

"And, I bring my brains too if not Brobdingnagian brawn," Dr. Banner states. Bruce does not state that, fairly or not, Jan has never been known for her brains. Beside Bruce, Jan sensitively does not state that she has never been known for tolerating well b.o. from a group under the sweltering sun.

Resolved, Walker raises his fist. The Captain declares, "Let's move out!"

Enthusiastic charger Tommy announces, "Yeah! _Adventurers_ Assemble!"

"Okay, that doesn't inspire confidence," John mumbles.

In the near future, in Missouri, Mentallo sits motionless and scans the conference room, his gaze safely concealed behind the Psycho-Helmet's dark visor. Across the table, Chemistro sits at twelve o'clock at ten in the morning. Curtis' masked face looks back at Marvin's masked face, and Carr seemingly assesses Flumm right back. Flumm looks away. Kitty-corner, Eve Necker and Nathaniel Duffy sit—the assistant with an oddly dead stare. Mentallo mindprobes the redhead deeply and her workmate. To Marv's slight surprise, Duffy is a nascent cyborg. Dr. Necker has recently begun burrowing and burying circuitry into his cerebrum. The hardware in his head functions much like the chips and gears operating in Plainsman. Duffy is an automatic bodyguard should anyone threaten Eve, with psychic attack.

Of course, Eve need not fear psychic attack at this assembly. Mentallo has already informed her—by ESP—that she and he work mutually for MODOK and AIM. She is glad to hear such news in her head, and she volunteers that Duffy is an early version of something called a Minion. Unbeknown yet to Necker, the Minion cyborg is but an early version of the Death's Head cyborg that the scientist creates in 2020, next year. But, for now, Eve has no knowledge of such developments.

Over Necker's shoulder, Grey Gargoyle sits casually guarding all present AIM personnel. He is cool and casual, for Mentallo has also quietly communicated with him. Like a church gargoyle, he sits stone-still observing proceedings. If he need move a muscle, AIM's hired muscle will move it.

To Marvin's right is his right-hand man Fixer, and the Plainsman is on his port. Each flank has automatic defenses, whether by exoskeleton or internal components, that will attack AIM if the sly scientists try any shenanigans. The CSA dealers have aces in the hole, as Plainsman would put it.

Mentallo thinks that the villainous assembly could be an uneventful and amiable exchange. The seven present have assured such—through tacit threat. Dr. Necker raps the table hard twice, and she suggests that they start the meeting.

Elsewhere, tacit trepidation tugs at Bruce Banner's insides, but it does not pull forth the Hulk hidden within. In fact, Bruce frets because the Big Guy seems completely dormant. Despite trying some triggering, the mere man does not feel a tremendous and terrible tingle through his flesh. His skin is not a wee green. An expanding frame is not straining his duds. Discouraged, Bruce looks at U.S. Agent across the alley behind the Rowen. At ease, the super-soldier observes his comrade's unrest.

"Don't worry. Be happy, Hulk," the commander comments, "It could be a good thing that you are not rampaging through the streets of St. Louie yet. Certainly, we are trying to sneak-up on the supervillains, not spook them s***less before a surprise assault."

"I suppose," Bruce affirms, "The circumstance is not completely bad. It preserves our element of surprise."

"Which we worked hard to achieve," Speed dumps trashed technology on the cement.

A moment earlier, Speed, Wasp, Tigra, and U.S. Agent simultaneously sabotaged, sacked, and destroyed all perceivable detection equipment around "AIM central" here. Everything went down at once. If the heroes are lucky, any AIM security staff believes that a blackout has just occurred in the intense summer heat. Or, guards maybe believe that an AIM generator or computer failed. Or, the sabotage could be unnoticed at the moment. Or, the system crash could appear to be an attack. In any case, AIM's alert system should be disconcerted for a precious minute while the heroes make their move. Hopefully, no AIM flunky has even yet contacted the second-floor convocation.

"Yeee-hah!" Tigra tosses some crushed camera on the pile, "Now we need only worry about telepathic detection from Mentallo or MODOK."

"Monstrous MODOK is at least not in sight," Jan pops from thin air. Presently, her size abilities function fine.

"And, Mentallo's mind is likely occupied by the get-together," Dr. Banner conjectures, "No earthly psychic, not even Mentallo's, is cognizant of everyone at once. So, we are perhaps 'under his radar', so to speak."

"We will be putting out his light soon anyway," Wasp wields a crackling palm. That power works too.

Primed, U.S. Agent unlocks his idle hands and brandishes the shield from his back. "Okay, we are storming the Rowen. Here's the plan," Agent iterates, "First, we recon quickly and then communicate immediately via earpieces conveniently procured from our Quinjet. Then, with excellent improvisation, we fluidly confront, defeat, and foil our evil adversaries as Avengers always do."

"Do I try that building vent?" Wasp points.

Into the alleyway, the hotel air exchange juts, and it jets hot exhaust from the climate-controlled structure. Sans ado, Jan jets her shrunken body up the conduit. She hopes that AIM has not booby-trapped their ventilation system too much between ground and second floor.

Without a word, U.S. Agent but admires Wasp's outstanding initiative. The old team leader charged in before the present team leader could reply to her question. Good. "Greer and Bruce," John instructs, "Go through the establishment's front door incognito. Neither one of you should have creature features. Go to the front desk. You are the Mostros checking-in."

Banner and Nelson give each other an odd look. They give Walker one too.

The Captain continues, "Let's have Greer subtly break away from her 'husband' and find the stairs. Once on them, Tigra, transformed, swiftly seeks the second floor and sets outside the conference door. You can eavesdrop or crash the party, whatever is best."

"Meanwhile, am I trying to check-in before check-in/check-out time?" the doctor fastidiously checks.

The soldier sneers, "So f****** what if you are? Tell the desk clerk 'Don't make me. . . . ."

"Never mind," Bruce intercedes, "I shall simply guard the lobby. Any escaping villains won't like finding me there. Even in human form, they kind of fear me."

Walker moves along, "Speed, tear-ass up the terraces of this tower. Find an entrance. Cover the topside of our operation. Some super-scum is bound to try flying away." Like lightning, Speed sends himself from the ground to the sky.

Walker watches Tigra tap her talisman, transforming herself back to Greer. From his rucksack, he hands her a blouse, shorts, and flip-flops for temporary usage. He salutes her. The ex-cop salutes him back. U.S. Agent opens a steel door on the back of the Rowen building, and he uses the employee entrance to enter AIM territory. Hopefully, his conspicuous costume draws attention and any initial fire, for the super-soldier would love to see his squad successfully infiltrate the bad guys' hideout before they know what hit them.

A story above the Agent, Eve Necker commences the illicit commerce, "Welcome to the Rowen by the riverfront in St. Louis, sirs."

"Thank you, ma'am," Fixer replies, "You have a lovely Scottish brogue."

Bonny Necker winks, "Thank you. You have lovely American funds to offer AIM, and our organization appreciates that."

"What exactly does AIM have to offer us?" Mentallo inquires, "The original Mentallo's Helmet of Power from Kansas City?" Mentallo already knows what AIM brings.

"Do not be daft. Paul Destine was from Missouri; the Helmet of Power, a.k.a. the Serpent Crown, was not," Minion Duffy has a mind like a sharp computer.

Curtis Carr communicates, "You guys are getting argon."

Marvin acts surprised, "But sir, argon is one of the most common elements in our atmosphere."

Chemistro produces a lustrous canister, "You are getting one of the Elements of Doom, but I suspect that you currently already know such."

"He does," Fixer confirms, "He and I discussed the basics of this exchange earlier."

"Let me supply some specifics," Dr. Carr details, "The Elements of Doom are an army of mighty monsters created by Russian mad scientist Vasily Khandruvitch. Years back, he managed to make semi-autonomous humanoids from each of the periodic table's elements. These Elements of Doom have rampaged everywhere from Seversk, Russia to St. Louis, USA. And, in their four recorded forays, they have fought the Avengers thrice and once the Thunderbolts."

"I tend to remember the NYC encounter," Techno acknowledges, "An Element snapped my f***ing neck and actually killed me for a bit. But, I got better."

"C'est la vie. Such is the life of a supervillain," Grey Gargoyle grants, knowingly nodding.

Chemistro continues exposition, "The last time that the Elements were unleashed, kooky Khandruvitch was not their controller. AIM acquired the calamitous creatures. We set them loose on St. Louis to see what destruction our wild and weird weapons could do [see _Avengers _v.3 #56]. They did not disappoint. It took ten Avengers to battle the beasts until Iron Man and Beast kitbashed a deactivation device that decomposed the Doom constructs. Put-down, the Element sludge slide and sloshed into the storm sewers. AIM has been retrieving and reconstituting the melted monsters ever since, and the organization contracted Chemistro, me, engineer extraordinaire, to do so, of course."

"You are an alchemist of the highest order," Fixer admits, "You do feats that even I, the Fixer, cannot. The only people better at chemical conversion and matter manipulation are Molecule Man, King Midas, and—may I say—Grey Gargoyle."

All bad guys present have a good chuckle. Grey Gargoyle quips, "Yes, and the only 'stoners' surpassing me are mythical Medusa and the Asparagus People." Duval has visited deep space, and he knows the alien "Asparagus People", the D'bari. The gathered great goons continue to guffaw.

All of a sudden, Mentallo interrupts the mirth. "Red alert!" his thought instantly enters all seven minds.

"What is it?" Fixer thinks, "Is AIM about to f*** us, Marvin?"

"No," Flumm replies, "And, don't think that, Bert. I have connected all of our minds for a quick conference. You are on a partyline, so to speak." Fixer sees some glares and frowns from across the table.

"I detect our spying scout too," Plainsman saves Fixer from an awkward moment, "Some little critter is in the air vent. A competent nimrod senses such things, especially one cybernetically-enhanced."

"My parts also discern something," Minion mentally mentions, "My cerebral circuits connect to this building's security measures. Several have suddenly went down for some reason, but the vents' motion detectors perceive a big bug flying around in them."

"It is the Wasp," Mentallo tells, "My mind probe finds Jan van Dyne spying upon this meeting."

"The original Avenger is unlikely alone," Fixer informs all, "Marvin and I encountered her with Tigra, Speed, and Hulk yesterday. We thought that Mentallo's mindwipe had taken care of them."

"The Hulk is kind of a big deal," Grey Gargoyle shifts his stony posterior, "I even somewhat fear him. He once re-arranged me—literally [see _Incredible Hulk _#363]."

"I am kind of concerned about Speed's presence," Chemistro contributes, "The lad could lope into this lair like lightning and steal our canistered contraband before we even blink. Then, neither AIM nor the CSA has their dear s***."

"I am kinder concerned about Tigra," Plainsman puts-out, "My nose says that that pussycat is right outside the door of this here windowless room." Plainsman points, just in case his fellows do not know what a door is.

"Tigra is directly outside that door," Mentallo and Fixer simultaneously confirm. One scanned psychically, the other with a radar widget.

"Let us conclude our business," Dr. Necker directs, "Earth's Mightiest Heroes are fools for invading what is essentially AIM central. On the Mississippi River, we even have something dubbed 'Fin Fang Foom' that can handle the Hulk."

"Before smashing Hulk and other Avengers, let us process our sale," Mentallo suggests, "Then, we can stampede the Avengers, surge past them, and split-up on our way out."

Chemistro summarizes, "We 'lowlifes' bum-rush them and scatter ourselves."

"Sounds like a deal," Fixer says, "I have the financial transfer info memorized."

Mentallo transfers the transfer info to Necker and her assistant Minion. The internet installed in Duffy's dome delivers U.S. federal funds to a Swiss account. Chemistro transfers the canister to Fixer who hands the purchase to Plainsman who transfers the booty to a buckskin satchel. Fixer explains that Plainsman and Mentallo are about to make like members of the Pony Express while Fixer engages Avengers. The duo race the precious cargo to a safer locale. Fixer plans to meet them eventually there.

Overhead, Wasp has had her interest piqued for some time. For awhile, the convocation of villains has gone strangely silent, and Wasp wonders what they are up to. Over her communicator, Jan relays details to U.S. Agent and the other three Avengers. Expert strategist Agent speculates that Mentallo might have the entire group gabbing telepathically. But, he is unsure. He requests further observations.

Wasp watches Grey Gargoyle surreptitiously change his chair to an oddly-shaped boulder. She watches him swiftly rise and grip the boulder by an armrest "handle". He hurls the heavy object heartily.

"Tigra, look out!" Wasp audibly wails into her radio.


	5. Chap 5: Time for me to fly

**Chapter 5: "Time for me to fly"**

Tigra startles—as a petrified projectile explodes through the wall beside her. It is actually a distracting decoy. Grey Gargoyle crashes through the door next to her and bulldozes Tigra backwards. He tries hugging her so to freeze her form for an hour. But, Tigra fleetly flips above him. From behind, the Cat catches Grey Gargoyle's arm and trips his leg. The wild woman throws fifty-four stones down the corridor successfully.

Suddenly, Fixer enters the hallway—blaster drawn, bead on Tigra.

Seconds earlier, Chemistro brandishes his Alchemy Gun and aims for Wasp in the air vent. Instantly, ether forms all around her. Chemistro figures that Wasp will do one of three things: pass-out in the powerful anesthesia, fly in retreat out of the cloud, or do what she does. Instinctively, willful Wasp fires at the grate. And, the ether ignites and explodes. The concussion blows van Dyne down the duct like a backhanded bug. The diminutive darling dents aluminum and drops dizzy and (temporarily) debilitated.

Concurrent with Chemistro's action, AIM colleagues Necker and Duffy attempt their escape. Clicking a remote, Eve opens a secret wall panel behind which there is dark, open space. Nate scoops his boss into his arms and, with her, jumps into the empty shaft. The minion and madam drop a full twenty-two feet to the basement. Duffy whimpers a wee when his two feet meet firm concrete. Minion's legs are not quite bionic yet. He gently places ginger Eve upright and gingerly staggers about on his stinging, stunned extremities.

From nowhere, a hurtling shield knocks Nate right on his ass. The whipped weapon ricochets off a wall and returns to its owner. U.S. Agent eyeballs Necker ominously. His black uniform advances from the shadows at the AIM escape tunnel. His steely stare (while silent) says to surrender immediately.

Simultaneously, two stories up, Fixer fires a blaster at Tigra. The hairy superheroine backflips before the vile villain can even blink. She adeptly dodges the discharge, which destroys a soda machine. Sugary steam issues instantly over the area. Grey Gargoyle rises and rushes. Like a guerilla in the mist, Gargoyle grabs for the girl, but he only grazes her. He would have his granite grip turn Grant to stone. But, Tigra is a living thing, and it's a given thing that she's a terrible thing to win. She deftly dodges Duval and dropkicks him like Greer the Graymalkin Grappler.

Down the hall, Fixer fires again. Into his line, his ally stumbles. Plasma strikes stony sternum spectacularly.

Grey Gargoyle rubs his charred chest, "Fixer, you feckless—'ow do you say?—f***er!"

"Excuse your French," Ebersol gibes. He holsters his hand-cannon. He has a better idea for obliterating Tigra. Tapping his weapons vest, the lout launches a mini-rocket at the angry, approaching Avenger. The she-beast springs for the ceiling and, by the claws, swings safely out of the way. In less than a second, the missile u-turns, still locked on target. 'Twould seem Tigra is toast without knowing it.

Luckily, Speed arrives before anyone realizes. Tommy takes the flying ordinance from its trajectory

and returns the explosive doodad back to its dealer. With a resounding peal, Fixer's vest shatters and scatters into his surroundings. Plaster peels, and drywall drops. The awful echo abuses Greer and Paul's ears. Instantly, the vest begins self-repair, via nanotechnology. Immediately, Speed seizes the shredded suit's collar and cruises for a nearby exit. In a centisecond, he darts a dastard up twelve flights. Upon release, Fixer skips and skids across rough rooftop until impacting the top floor's brick edge.

Eagerly, Speed is on Fixer again, "I'll fix you so fast, felonious Fixer, that it'll make your head spin." Hurricane hands spin the supervillain scientist senseless like a centrifuge separating cerebrum from skull. As bonus, Bert's breakfast departs his belly too.

Below, one moment prior, Mentallo and Plainsman hurry through the recent detonation's cloud of dust. They have just watched a blur wallop Fixer and whiz him away. Behind them, Tigra and Grey Gargoyle continue to scrap. Claws scrape stone. Hands of stone jab, jab, jab at an awfully agile target.

"Take the stairs down to the lobby level," Mentallo points the Plainsman.

"If'n the Avengers are any kind of smart," the plain fellow proposes, "They probably placed a sentry in the lobby."

"They did," the ESPer informs, "Bruce Banner awaits us below, and he could become the Hulk at any momet."

Nonplussed, the pioneer player pleads, "So why the hell 'r we head'n for him?"

"Because I have a plan," the prognosticator tells the plebian, "I predict that we safely pilot the Banner-Hulk Scylla and Charybdis, for one of us is invisible presently while the other is not."

"What?" Plainsman is further perplexed.

The skedaddling pedestrians pass Greer's garments and flip-flops near the ground floor door. Mentallo points to his head, "Through the power of psionics, Bruce-baby—or any other Avenger—can see you, but he cannot ken me."

Flumm flings open the exit, "Now please, Plainsman, plod into the lobby place and ply our safe passage past a potential powerhouse polypheme."

"That's easy for you to say, I reckon," the scout says, "You're the unseen 'no man' that this Polyphemus can't see."

"I see that you have read _The Odyssey_," Mentallo comments.

"Indeed, I could not perform this Apollonian alter ego were I not well-educated," Plainsman states in Standard American English absolutely free of any dialectal inflection.

The two players progress into the hotel's entry way, hoping to efficaciously exit. Banner's brow beetles upon beholding a buckskinned, body-armored man moving toward him. Spy Wasp radioed him that someone appareled so was at the AIM meeting. Boldly, Banner moves to intercept.

A story above, Tigra and Grey Gargoyle still tussle. Grey Gargoyle gropes for her, and she spins away grinning. Gargoyle grumbles and throws a punch, but Tigra gets low and ducks. Growling, Tigra goes for broke. Her great might may hurt her hefty, hardened foe yet. Hopping high, Tigra greets Grey's face with forceful feet. She flips her form upright and instantly attacks with another unrestrained kick. It knocks Gargoyle flat. Grabbing an ankle, Greer grits her teeth and grunts—determined to bust rock to gravel.

But, a dirty fighter, Grey Gargoyle boots Tigra in the groin. Gasping, she groans, releases, and retreats. "I oughta grind you to goo," she displays her sharp grill.

Gargoyle gets up. He goes for broke. Like greased lightning, he launches his head into her gut. Stalwart, the superheroine leap-frogs the Frenchman. She lunges backward impotently bashing an elbow on unbreakable body. In close quarters, Grey Gargoyle cracks her a good one.

"Consider that a French kiss," a lout's lip curls, "to stop your mouth and weaken your knees."

The Cat spits crimson and sways unsteadily. Grey Gargoyle grows gleefully cocksure. Grinning, he hitches heavy hands above his head. He drops them like a grievous gavel. Grimacing, Greer genuflects. Seemingly groveling, Tigra teeters on three limbs. Gathering oomph, Grey Gargoyle unreservedly uppercuts his unlucky opponent. The power punch slugs a hero through the ceiling and ruinously spears her into the Rowen's third story. Tigra sees birdies. Grey Gargoyle ogles her limp limbs and slack torso. He is tempted to tickle her, but he is not quite that evil. He is Paul Pierre Duval, not Pepe le Pew. Gargoyle considers slapping a stiffening touch upon her healthy, helpless hip. However, Tigra's hanging, hirsute anatomy is art enough for the strange sculptor, so he says "adieu" and ambles along.

Twelve stories overhead, Fixer feels majorly discombobulated. Certain best vest defenses are disabled, and Speed dodges the devices that do work. The speedster dashes and dances about the vast dust cloud kicked-up around the villain. Again and again, the Avenger arrives from nowhere and decks the choking and blinded churl. Occasionally, the shooter just clips the sitting duck. Downed repeatedly, the devious, dangerous Fixer deduces that he must halt Speed posthaste. Playing dead, delinquent Ebersol queries himself "How would one counter and conquer Quicksilver?"

Pietro's nephew pauses. He assesses apparently unconscious Fixer and considers binding the bad guy in some roof wires. If this opponent is out, he needs to assist other Avengers in their actions.

But, before anyone can act, Shepherd unceremoniously suffers an apparent heart attack. Suddenly, sweat squeezes from his abruptly aching head in the horrendous heat. He wheezes sharply and wraps his abruptly arrested chest. The Young Avenger cannot breath, and the blood freezes in his flesh. Bulging eyes behold his boots through blurry vision as he bows and bobs toward them trapped in tar, sloppy and soft from the outdoor heat and his sprinting's friction. Stumbling forward, Speed trips over his own feet and faceplants into icky asphalt.

"Holy s***! I have no powers again," Tommy thinks, tasting nasty tar and grit.

Feet away, Fixer hears the impact and opens his eyes. Bert beholds the boy in distress, and he smirks. Fixer stows the electrified bola, a sneaky innovation stolen from Spymaster, that he would have tried on Quicksilver or Speed. Tapping an outfit button, Techno checks his vest's flight capabilities. Nanotech has knitted circuits back together. Ebersol is a-okay for escape.

"Time for me to fly," Bert tells Tommy, "I am sure that we will fight again soon—if you do not expire currently."

Fixer leaps from the skyscraper and rockets away across the sunny St. Louis Master of Evil is sticking to the plan while the Young Avenger is stuck to the rooftop. A smart man, the intelligence agent knows that the mission takes priority. Foremost, he must deliver Argon to the CSA. Today's job is delivering contraband, not killing a mischievous, meddling, munificent mutant—no matter how amusing that murder would be.

Far below the above scene, Chemistro descends into the Rowen's dark, dank depths. In a dimly-lit basement, he releases the rungs leading down the same shaft that Necker and Duffy took. Across the underground, the evil empiricist discerns a dreadful din as someone uses a sonic gun—that something oddly progressively stifles.

"A vibranium shield has its uses such as absorbing all of that racket," voices a vigilante half-hidden behind his shield, "Now please, surrender, ma'am, before I must slug you one."

The black costume resembles Captain America's, and Chemistro reasons that he sees the U.S. Agent, a surprise guest. The sinister scientist scans left, and he sees that Agent has overwhelmed Minion, who lies messed-up. Minion's mistress, Dr. Eve Necker tosses her sonic armament aside and surrenders with raised hands. The heel hero restrains her wrists with the belt removed from her waist. And, the resolute raider readies to rip the titanium gates securing the AIM tunnel. Summoning superb strength, the super-soldier should be able to shred and unseal the bulwark between himself and the enemy of the people. Beyond the barricade, the Mighty Avenger may excitingly encounter an AIM army to beat and maybe even a MODOK to mangle. Adventure and duty beckon the big guy. He strides straight ahead.

But, to Walker's surprise, the cement liquefies beneath his boots before arrival. He sinks shins-deep into sucking sludge. Then, the concrete instantly solidifies. U.S. Agent swears a red, white, and blue streak. In the underground gloom, Chemistro grins twirling his Alchemy Gun. As Carr anticipated, Eve sprints to an electronic panel beside the rampart. The AIM AI recognizes her retinas, face, and voice. It obeys orders promptly. It unbattens the barrier and opens the gates wide.

With a fury, Walker wields his fists—consecutively cracking concrete. Chemistro catches downed Duffy's collar and drags the damaged drone for freedom. Fluid seeps and components hang from the savaged cyborg. Agent frees his feet. Nearby, he espies an escape sled sitting at the tunnel entrance. Chemistro slams Minion into it and straps him secure. The drubbed droid droops after Carr deposits the dribbling cur in the car. Agent advances. Already in the taxi, Dr. Necker discharges a snubnose at U.S. Agent. Ever agile, he effortlessly avoids the incoming ammo. However, Chemistro's Alchemy Gun is more effective. In a swath, it spews wide an injurious cloud of acid.

Chemistro announces through the deleterious defense, "Don't come any closer, Cap. This haze of hydrochloric could kill you."

"I doubt that," Agent assesses, although he halts.

Carr climbs into the sled and activates the escape's amped ignition. Raucously roaring, the rocket carriage spits fire and races away west, pinning its occupants unpleasantly, their flesh pressed and nigh flapping. The powerful propulsion forward pushes back the caustic cloud upon U.S. Agent. Undeterred, Walker boldly leaps through the acid and prays that an enhanced human heals skin quickly and that his costume doesn't embarrassingly dissolve.

Without warning, the tunnel's aperture slams shut, and the sealing steel shuts upon Agent. Or, at least his arm gets smooshed. Snarling severely, John Walker jerks and wriggles futilely for a few seconds before bashing his unbreakable shield between the set doors. He pries. He frees his limb. Circulation returns to his forearm and fingers. Agent's fist dents the doors repeatedly in frustration.

Overhead, a telepath and a trekker attempt an egress as their AIM associates did. Invisible to the eye, Mentallo manages to approach the Rowen's front door without being seen. Evident to the eye, Plainsman manages to approach Dr. Bruce Banner as a decoy.

"In that fancy garb, you must be the Plainsman," Bruce guesses. Banner blocks the bigger man's way.

"How'd you guess?" the scout canvasses.

"Wasp reported all parties in that conference room before the battle and brouhaha erupted," Banner responds, "You seem to be fleeing with the known felons taking flight."

Overhead one story, an awful crash resounds. The undercover Avenger cocks an ear to the upstairs, curious what has occurred. Cocking an ear as well, the secret cyborg electronically auscultates the outside. A progressive patter of panicked public approaches the hotel exterior. Plainsman points. Past the Rowen's windows, a rabble runs terrified.

Plainsman pushes past "puny" Banner, "Folks could be in peril. This is a job for the Plainsman!" He puffs his chest. Prancing, he proceeds for the outdoors.

Surprisingly, the slight scientist checks the strapping escapee. Suddenly, Banner is stronger than he looks.

"Hold up," Bruce seizes a shoulder in a staunch cinch, "How do I know that you have heroic intent? You have AIM associates."

"On my honor, Dr. Banner, I work intrepidly incognito infiltrating AIM. Or, to put matters in your modern parlance, I am an undercover mole. I am a good guy, like you," the supposed spy reports.

"I suppose that you could be," the Avenger allows, "However, how do I even know that you are the real Plainsman? St. Louis' savior is supposedly deceased." U.S. Agent informed Hulk earlier.

Plainsman shrugs with his free shoulder, "Well, as another noted Missourian once said, the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated."

External tumult interrupts the two men's exchange. Some party is rampaging relatively nearby. The traffic is screeching and colliding. Masonry is getting demolished. Steel is crumpling and creaking. Big, heavy things are getting tossed. People are screaming en masse. Wailing sirens are arriving in large number.

In response, The Strongest One There Is strains to show himself, and Banner's inner muscular monster manifests a bit. For example, the man's mitts marginally go green and grow a bit. But, the suppressed brute cannot come forth.

Instead, Banner merely makes macho, "Hulk will soon disassemble you if you are dissembling me. Go save St. Louis."

Half-Hulk releases Plainsman, who bolts. The semi-bot bolts right by Grey Gargoyle rampaging outside. Thus, the two-faced transporter, of Argon, makes his escape.

A moment prior, Grey Gargoyle strides to a second-story wall of the Rowen. And, he vigorously stomps out the plaster and cement. Open space invites him to spring into it. His fleeing associates could use a distraction, and the old supervillain could use some fun. Grey Gargoyle steps out.

Like a bold boulder, Grey Gargoyle breaks the pavement below. He bellows bestially at bemused and scared bystanders—who scatter in all directions. The man-monster moves over the mall between the Rowen edifice and St. Louis' Old Courthouse. The metamorphic menace mashes full maples and mutilates park benches. He monkeys with the grass, turning lawn to loam. He mashes solid sidewalk as he marches to Market Street. At Market and 4th, the malevolent marvel molds steel streetlights into pretzels and mangles six parked sedans successively. In 4th Street, Grey Gargoyle meddles with oncoming traffic like a matador making it stop. Then, he mows down halted traffic like a magnificent bull, mauling metal with his pedal. Reaching Courthouse grounds, Gargoyle petrifies mortified tourists and mobilizes them through the air. The men-missiles mar the Old Courthouse landmark, miffing many observing Missourians. The granite goon makes more mayhem—even masticating some marble masonry.

Police arrive. Grey Gargoyle merrily moons them before opening the pavement over some storm sewer. "Ta ta," the terror teases tourists and troopers. Tumbling headfirst, he takes his leave into the tunnel leading to the Mississippi.

A moment later, Wasp ventures through the vents within the Rowen. U.S. Agent and Speed radio that they each sorely lost their subjects. Chemistro, Eve Necker, and Minion got away. Fixer got away. Dr. Banner breaks in to report that he may have let one go, that Mentallo may have snuck by him somehow (he suspects), and that Grey Gargoyle may have been rampaging recently in the vicinity (he speculates). While Bruce babbles, Jan is sure that she hears cross hissing ahead. Wasp finds Tigra. She sees the seething, snarling Cat madly contorting her body and curling back her metal confines. Steamed, Tigra escapes the vent. Once upon carpet, the cranky kitty actually roars resoundingly (through the Rowen).

Miles away, traffic roars outside of Mentallo's open window. Marvin revs a stolen pick-up's engine to keep up on I-70. He has picked-up Plainsman, who sits beside him in the cab. Beside Plainsman, Argon sits in a buckskin bag. The two bad guys breathe the broiling mid-morning air in relief. Flumm lets the sweat flow freely down his bald dome. Beside him, the Psycho-Helmet sits on the sweltering seat. It scintillates in the stifling smog of the highway as the deuces speed for an exit ramp.

"I sure wish that the AC worked in this bucket," the pathfinder pulls the sticky leather from his hairy sternum, "I am from these parts. And, even I think that today is hotter than f***ing blazes."

"We'll get tutti-f***ing-frutti later," Flumm tastes his beard's brine, "Is this the exit?" A purplish glove points at a sign for Airport Road, where there might be some cooling and tasty ice cream, or other amusing occupation.

"Indeed, we're goin' into Berkeley, Missourah," the passenger informs, "Our CSA contact confiscates the contraband at yonder trusted government contractor."

"At that so-called trusted contractor?" an index finger designates large letters on an expansive facility.

"Yep, we get paid there," Plainsman nods a nose at Shaw Industries.

Abruptly, Mentallo jerks the ride hard right. The duo leave Airport Road for a Roxxon station's parking lot. Apparently pissed, Marvin plants the pick-up into a parking stall.

"Who's our contact, buddy?" Flumm, frowning, insists upon knowing.

"You don't need to know that," Plainsman explains, "I am the asset here trusted by our government. I know the operation's full plan, and you don't need to."

"The CSA trusted an ass with the full plan? The f*** they did!" Flumm scoffs.

"Well, they wadn't gonna fully trust no notorious felon like Fixer or'n you!" the Missourian makes things plain. Things are getting heated in the broiling truck.

Mentallo touches his pulsating temple, "I could rip answers from your mind, moron. But, I prefer some professional civility. So, I ask. Who the f*** are we meeting at Shaw Industries? And, why the f***ing hell are we by Shaw Industries in the first place?!"

"What in tarnation have you got against Shaw Industries?" Plainsman ponders, "For sha, the Shaw plant is a crown jewel of the St. Louis area. They majorly employ Missourians."

"They employ them to build SENTINELS!" screams Mentallo.

In the parking lot, folks look toward the two loud outlaws on the lam. Inside the station, local news reports on supervillains in downtown St. Louis. Grey Gargoyle gets central coverage, but Plainsman gets shown too—except with his hat on. Fixer was also active near the Arch, and he has a known cohort resembling the cranky driver—except the TV Mentallo wears a mask.

Plainsman scouts and scans passers-by. No one looks like he or she summons the cops for a commotion or for the capture of super-criminals. The shotgun seat quietly inquires, "What do you have against Sentinels?"

"I'm a mutant, you a******!" exclaims Mentallo.

Around the Roxxon, some fuelers stop and certain pedestrians stumble. A few people gawk at the declared mutie in the gaudy tunic, who resembles the public menace on TV. The "mutant problem" does not show-up in the Show Me State too often. Folks think that the funky fellow should maybe mosey off and motor on back east from where he, undoubtedly, came.

"Oh," the perspiring Plainsman pulls at his beard, "I should ask. . . . . What are Sentinels zactly? These ones you speak of."

"They are giant robots generated for mutant-hunting," Mentallo tells the tracker, "Time and again, some bigoted industrialist such as Bolivar Trask or Sebastian Shaw builds them to pester, oppress, and possibly exterminate the X-Men. Often, this arms dealer does business with alarmists in the American government, such as certain members of the CSA."

"So, you object to visiting Shaw on moral grounds?" the passenger guesses.

The driver grunts and gushes, "I also don't want to be detected, done in, and dissected within the hour! That experience would be even worse than futzing with a fool in this g***** heat."

A jet flies over audibly. Mentallo grits his teeth and grips the wheel hard. He expects that the Sentinels have found him. The din gives overheated Marvin chills. But, Plainsman sees that an airliner merely crosses low in the sky.

"Be calm, buddy," the hero adheres a sticky leather glove to the disturbed's neck nape, "Lambert International and other airports operate near here. That is just a flight taking off."

"I wouldn't mind taking off too!" Marvin wipes thick, filthy sweat and flings the foul stuff onto the dash like dirty dew.

"We can't, pardner," Plainsman retorts, "AIM got paid. We might as well'n as well."

"Judas priest! You've got another think coming!" Mentallo indicates that the rube is thinking like a fool and that it's a case of do or die. Momentarily, Mentallo does not care that there's a fortune to be had.

"The song is actually 'you've got another _thing_ coming'. Know your all-American music," the Missourian mumbles.

"The song is actually British," Mentallo's finger pecks Plainsman's pate.

"Well, Marvin. Actually, _you_ have another think coming," Plainsman pats to Mentallo's melon "I am a cyborg with automatic deadly defenses unassailable by your'n pissy p'sionics. I could kill you like a bullfrog on a fly." Fidgety, the fink draws forth an antique pistol.

"Do not bulls*** yourself, bullfrog," Flumm snickers, "If you off me, Fixer will find you and slaughter you reeeal f***ing slow. You'll wish that Looter lobotomized you again."

Frowning, the fool holsters his handgun, ""He didn't lobotomize me. He just partially blew my brains out." Plainsman shakes his head.

Silence follows for a tick. The steamy air sits heavily in the truck. The August sun scorches through the windshield. Plainsman considers fetching a sports drink in the auto stop, a. be damned. Then, Mentallo makes a surprise move. Suddenly, he dons his Psycho-Helmet, despite now looking like a supervillain.

"Who is Barney Fiddler?" Mentallo unexpectedly asks his accomplice.

"My CSA contact. The fed's money man," perturbed Plainsman realizes that he has just been mind-probed by Marv's helmet.

Marv's hand ignites the truck's V-8. "Barney can meet us in Big Muddy National Wildlife Refuge near Boonville 150 miles west of here for the Argon exchange," Mentallo states, "I have already telepathically telegrammed Fiddler and Fixer."

The wheel peels out backwards. Berkeley's local yokels give one last glance at the gauche and gaudy visitors before the driver tromps the gas, going for I-70. Over the roaring engine, Mentallo reprimands, "By the way, Plainsman, pick a Southern dialect! No actual Southerner or southern Midwesterner speaks like you do!"

Plainsman points to his mouth, ""This is my idiolect for being in character. Sorry if I sound_s_ like such an idiot for it."

In the right seat, the passenger fumes in the high Fahrenheit as he unacceptably detours for farm country farther west. In a secret Shaw hanger, Barney Fiddler frets furiously for being taken as a Barney Fife. He flips-out over changing plans. However, the experienced agent understands foibles and fixes to meet Mentallo and companions in three hours.

Somewhere, the four AIM operatives—Chemistro, Grey Gargoyle, Dr. Necker, and Minion—are probably up to something too.

So are the five Avengers: U.S. Agent, Wasp, Hulk, Tigra, Speed.


	6. Chap 6: My Oh My, By and By

**Chapter 6: My Oh My, By and By**

Bruce Banner has to laugh at his current limitations. On a regular basis, his other half leaps two hundred feet into the air. Hulk consistently gets this striking view that holds Dr. Banner so engrossed now.

From the Rowen's fourteenth story, eastern St. Louis sprawls to the south and to the north, and it is an astonishing accomplishment from Busch Stadium to Martin Luther King Bridge. Across the way, East St. Louis, Illinois, transpires. Between the two burgs, the magnificent Mississippi River glides past the great Gateway Arch glimmering under the splendid noonday sun. Sharing the sky with Sol, spectacular thunderheads rise in the distance.

Bruce gazes at the searing sunlight, and he guffaws. Ol' Greenskin routinely handles such harsh radiation, and much worse. Yet, everyone here, including himself, has to pay heed to the unrelenting outside UV rays of August.

Bruce looks left at the person closest to him. He has to smile. Ms. Janet van Dyne has temporarily made herself at home in the Rowen's penthouse. Like Tony Stark or someone, Wasp sips a midday martini at the apartment's bar. Despite a heat advisory, despite vent fire dehydration, the Wasp consumes alcohol. Despite the "heat" of the situation, the Avengers have Masters of Evil to catch, she imbibes and indulges. A moment earlier, irritated Johnny Walker told her to abstain from intoxicant. But, Jan van Dyne retorted that "Olives are healthy for you." U.S. Agent admonished some more. But, the prima donna replied "Really boy, a super girl needs to recover, recuperate, and revive after a rough morning row."

To that purpose, recuperation, Tommy takes ice from the bar to Tigra. She is likely smarting after Grey Gargoyle socked it to her and slammed her through a ceiling. The concussed Cat lies limp and lethargic on a leather overstuffed lounge.

But, surprisingly, the werewoman waves her relief-wielder away. The animal-Avenger lilts, "I ache, but I have an alternative panacea to ice and gin."

Just like that, Tigra begins to literally lick her wounds. Her limber tongue lashes along her lacerated limbs, including supple legs lain atop her. Then, the Lady Liberator lifts her hips high while lying on her back and elongates her lower spine, cracking it loudly and ludicrously. The lassie loops her lower limbs elliptically about, and Tommy takes her in from her feet to her lap. Linking ankles, the balancer lolls on her shoulders in the sunlight, shimmering hotly upon relaxed life. The Cat folds in on herself—before the feline flips her form upright. Locking arms behind her, the lady lunges her chest forward to loosen her flesh—as flummoxed friend leers. Listing side-to-side, the lithe lovely stretches ligaments and sways long, alluring locks about. Ogling, Tommy eats some ice and sighs something deep. The lusty lycanthrope leaps at rapt Shepherd. Lulled Speed lows like captivated cattle. Feisty Tigra latches thighs about Tommy's flanks and lays hands upon his lurching shoulders, lively massaging. She leans on into the young Avenger and lets her lush fur and full lips brush his face. Lineaments livid with arousal, Speed pets Tigra back along her lumbar and above, nearly liberating the lady from bra.

"I feel better," the Cat lisps cutely.

"You are kind of a lascivious kitty," Bruce comments from the corner.

From the quirky couple, the scientist continues surveying. He sees U.S. Agent is on a presumably secure cellphone. Johnny appears happy.

"Well, I'm happy as a swine in s***!" says he, "You say that Shaw Industries has some kind of test drone that detected Mentallo and Plainsman?! And, the Missouri State Highway Patrol have quietly tailed them west on I-70, the troopers making sure to stay under the radar?"

Dr. Banner is also now happy. He let the two supervillians slip past him in the lobby. He would not mind the heroes capturing the scoundrels. The apprehension would save him some face. Although, Bruce is unsure how useful that he would be when he still cannot summon the Strongest One There Is. Ergo, the Avengers are still not at full incredible strength, and Bruce feels anxious—and a wee angry—over that.

"I can't believe that—even with a Hulk—we are shortstaffed," U.S. Agent tells the phone's other end, "We could use some other Avengers, Orville, as discussed."

Dr. Banner is a smart guy, and he conjectures that Orville is Orville Sanderson of the FBI. The bureau is an odd source of further Avengers when any hero here could call Earth's Mightiest Heroes directly. However, Hulk comprehends that this excursion is a semi-secret Avengers adventure, for the five face, in part, the federal government.

Grinning, Agent ends the call. "We are some lucky lugs," U.S. states, "Some sort of high-altitude Shaw tech, up in the gathering cumulonimbus, detected Mentallo in a St. Louis suburb and then eavesdropped on his conversation with Plainsman in a truck. We know where the two are going."

"So, some Shaw tech detected a mutant and then surveilled and tracked him," Speed notes. Speed is a mutant, so this occurrence has especial interest to him.

"Yeah," John ignores Tommy's underlying concern, "And, you can be the next to chase after Mentallo and mate. They head for Big Muddy National Fish and Wildlife Refuge near Boonville, Missouri."

"When do the two trespassers arrive there?" Wasp wonders aloud.

"They meet Fixer and a CSA operative at 14:00," answers Agent.

"I can get there before then," states Speed, "But, who is providing me support?"

"I am," valiant van Dyne pipes, "But, who is giving us support? Four bad guys are an able force, and provision is the better part of valor."

Playfully, Walker promenades to Jan and whispers a name in Wasp's ear. "Jessica Drew?" Jan asks.

"No, the other one," John replies, "Furthermore, my man mentioned a few other ass-kickers that he just might send our way." Content, Walker winks.

Pleased, van Dyne saunters from John and takes Tommy from Tigra. Grabbing his glove, the eager gal shrinks and places herself in the palm of his hand.

"Let's make like the Two-Gun Kid and cut-off the bad guys at the western pass," Wasp pronounces, "We can set-up an ambush."

"I could go for that," Speed readies to run.

But, the Young Avenger does not want to be too rash. He solicits some strategic advice from U.S. Agent before leaving. Consulting a computer map, the Captain communicates some crafty recommendations for a coordinated attack. Revved, Speed curls his companion comfily into his hand and asks if she is comfortable. Wasp reports that she is set for another skirmish with supervillains. Speed says that he is also psyched to assault Mentallo and Plainsman. Sans further ceremony, the stoked streaks from the skyscraper's top floor to the St. Louis streets. The two Avengers only accelerate from there, bound for battle.

Atop the Rowen, U.S. Agent continues to rally the troops, all two left, "We other Avengers have an offense to execute here too."

"What's the plan, tiger?" Tigra asks Agent.

Walker robustly replies, "You and I smash AIM in St. Louis!"

"I wish that one could be smashing with you," Banner remarks.

Super-soldier slaps slim scientist's side, "Bruce, I bet that you become the Hulk when needed or when angered or outraged. In the meanwhile, you can coordinate Avengers operations from this penthouse commandeered from Grey Gargoyle."

"Heck," Banner banters back, "Maybe, Grey Gargoyle will return to friendly territory, and, maybe, I shall wreck him into rubble."

"That's the spirit!" Walker declares, "You can watch Tigra and my six while we winnow out wicked AIM rascals. Good job!"

John pats Bruce's head. Within, the Hulk stirs slightly. No titan likes being petted and patronized. Pulling John's sleeve away, Greer comes to the rescue. Tigra dislikes Agent being catty to Bruce.

She redirects the ruffian, "Pray tell, sir, how are we stalking and subduing the bad guys?"

"Pussy-cat, you and I will pursue Grey Gargoyle and the AIM gang into the underground," U.S. Agent informs, "A couple hours ago, Gargoyle dropped himself into the sewers. Likewise, his associates Chemistro, Dr. Necker, and Minion sought to scurry down a subsurface tunnel like rats. We can make like two mousers after them all."

"Nice metaphor," the Cat compliments.

"Thank you," the Captain further promotes his plan, "I figure that a man-of-war, such as me, and a maneater, such as you, can track those troublemakers to whatever lair AIM maintains in Missouri."

Tigra takes the "maneater" diction with a grain of salt. Graciously, Greer jests seriatim, "Well, I do have the eye of the tiger, and I do want to rise to the challenge of my rival, such as Grey Gargoyle, for I would not mind another crack at ol' Stony-Face because I am a champion, and you're going to hear me roar. That sort of thing."

"Nice Rocky reference, rocky reference, and rock reference," Agent compliments.

Huffing, Tigra feels that she could hack a hairball if this wacky wordplay and repartee continues. She redirects again, "Anyway, Agent, shall we deploy immediately? Our AIM adversaries' trails only grows colder by our inactivity."

"Let's move-out then," intrepid Walker marches for the door. Earnest Tigra follows. And, anxious Bruce keeps the fort.

Fifty minutes later, U.S. Agent declares, "My oh my."

Before Walker, four supervillains conference in their subterranean accommodations beneath Chestnut Street, two-thirds of a mile from the Rowen. Awhile back, She-Hulk razed a building at this location while fighting the Elements of Doom with the Avengers (see _Avengers _v.3 #56), and the city has since renewed the area into a square surrounded by park land. At the square's center, a military museum stands, honoring those Americans who have served.

U.S. Agent fumes with fury, "My oh my. Apparently, leave it to AIM to build a nefarious facility under a military history museum and several public parks. I may have to f***-up felonious folks more than usual." The Captain cannot cotton AIM desecrating this place with their presence. He cannot tolerate them endangering either war relics or innocent civilians.

Wringing his chin, the warrior watches from behind the wasted rocket sled that Walker chased earlier. He champs at the bit to charge the cheeky chumps who chose this spot for their maddening machinations. Seething, the scout scans the scene.

To his right, mangled Minion lies immobilized on a gurney while Dr. Necker works on him. Occasionally, Duffy moans or moves, seeking amelioration. But, dispassionate Necker simply straps-down her suffering cyborg subordinate more securely. Cerebral brain bulges from broken frontal bone as blazing soldering iron sets blackening steel and sadistically singes flesh. The rest of Duffy's body also displays some twisted metal and meat.

A span to the left, chums Chemistro and Grey Gargoyle chat. An underground echo nicely amplifies their conversation. Dr. Carr directs Dr. Duval and chops his palm for emphasis. Per Curtis, Paul Pierre must help protect assets, the Elements of Doom, assembled for evacuation north. AIM administrator Curtis curtly commands his companion to carry containers to awaiting AIM conveyances idling nearby.

Clenching his fist, concerned Carr clamors, "Operations must be unchallenged by irksome Avengers! Not that chauvinist aping Captain America, not that cheesy chigger, not that chartreuse speedster, not that chupacabra chick! I have worked too hard! Mr. MODOK has done too much for me!"

"Like mind-controlling you so that reformed Curtis Carr is again a villain," Duval drolly mentions.

Suddenly, as if on cue, Chemistro's eyes cock, and his face convulses consecutively. Then, he calms. In a voice not his own, Carr intones, "The Elements of Doom will join Fin Fang Foom on the ferry, Frenchie. That is all you need ken. MODOK has spoken." Then, the commandeered Chemistro snaps out of it.

Stoneface shakes his head, "The boss has called me 'Frenchie'. Someone get AIM HR for ol' Pierre." The churl chuckles. A supervillain is not really the p.c. police.

Peering about, U.S. Agent observes the ancillary AIM operatives aiding asset organization and evacuation. They are about fifteen working drones in the organization's infamous "beekeeper" attire. Their outfits are yellow bodysuits, undoubtedly proper PPE for many professional purposes, with an obscuring mesh at the mug, from which the peers peer. On a loading pier, some check loads on chirping forklifts that then channel contraband into chariots. Elsewhere, a few chisel data into keyboards while a couple chew paper and various sensitive poop through shredder and chipper, cheating future investigators. All around, others achieve other tasks on the mezzanine surrounding the central floor.

Above everyone, Tigra ganders from the girders. She, of course, watches Captain like a cat.

Cap bristles like a cougar, like a Georgia mountain lion. Battle beckons John Walker. U.S. Agent begrudges this obscene presence begriming these boundaries blanketed by fair Americana above. Building his bona fide furor, the Super-Patriot bobs belligerently and foments his focused aggression.

Bolting upright, the bad-ass flings his shield unreservedly for the fifteen flunkies. Phenomenal force works on the disk delivering unbelievably impressive results. Cap's shield is a bouncing hyperbolic barrage of red, white, and blue about the entire base. An incredible thing, it eliminates beekeepers, beans noggins, busts bodies, breaks bones, and bowls over idiots across the whole area. Eventually, the barreling weapon broaches an earthen wall and sticks there.

Blood boiling, U.S. Agent bounds at the base's bigger blackguards. He bops Chemistro contemptuously aside. Sailing Carr broadsides Necker. In turn, the bio-engineer fully burns her boy. Oily, unfortunate Duffy ignites! Minion bleats and bellows in his bonds. He blares for flabbergasted Eve to break them. Flesh bubbles and bursts before her aghast gaze.

Bugling, wrathful warrior Walker wallops Grey Gargoyle's grill, chipping teeth. The brawler batters the bleeper with blows, breaking facial bits. He biffs his beak, bumping him backward. Blitzing, the Captain clobbers, backhands, and belts the beset blockhead. The hero literally kicks his butt before bestially butting the victim villain's visage. U.S. Agent beats Grey Gargoyle up and down. Flexing burgeoning biceps, the berserker body-slams his foe to the floor and then boots him to the ceiling.

Meanwhile, Tigra divebombs Chemistro. Her body bails boldly from the belfry beams. From the catwalk, the flying feline femme fatale besieges prey. But, Carr, by bad chance, has beheld her in time. He brandishes his bizarre sidearm, the Alchemy Gun. Blowing buoyant oxidizer overhead, Chemistro counters the Cat. Above Carr, a fireball bulwark blooms before the in-coming Avenger. Big-eyed, Tigra backflips in mid-air head-over-heels, no easy feat. She lands a bit away from the fiery umbrella.

"Stay back!" Chemistro blares.

Nearby, Minion basely begs his mistress for beneficence. Fluid brims from his burping, burst areas. He burns like a briquette. His skin broasts. His organs ablate. His components buckle abjectly.

One day before long, bitter memories will bias Duffy to become Death's Head II, cruel and cursed killbot. So it begins. . . . .

But today, a compassionate champion heeds the blighter's cries. Intending to aid, nimble Tigra breezes by Chemistro. But, turning about, the baddie aims his Alchemy Gun. Instantly, the floor goes brittle beneath "booking" Tigra, arresting advancing ankles. Ouch. Chemistro snatches some conduit cable and bullwhips Tigra's bare back savagely. The Avenger bears the pain and bares her teeth. Her foe briskly beats her about the shoulderblades until, embarrassingly, she bows a second. In that moment, the AIM boss benevolently balms wretched Duffy. He buries the burning bionic man in a blissful blizzard of quenching foam. Blessedly, his agony abates.

Tigra budges her feet from the floor and turns truculently towards her foe. Burning bright, Tigra bends her knees to launch. Foolishly, Chemistro brushes her buns with the whip as though he would abrade and drub the big kitty into submission. Incensed, the angry animal bays. Bounding, ballistic Tigra bags her quarry and cinches an injurious claw on his brow.

Close by, U.S. Agent bulldozes Grey Gargoyle into a careening, beeping forklift with blotto driver. The buffaloed human boulder overturns the vehicle. Walker breaks a steel blade from the car's ram. The bludgeon bashes the rocky rogue repeatedly. Ever resilient, Grey Gargoyle suddenly blocks the bar and upbraids U.S. Agent for bullying him. Bothered, John frees the bat and bonks the brazen bozo barbarously several times. Then, Agent bunts him to the cavern's bowels. The brute bunnyhops the downed lift and boisterously blathers about buffeting Gargoyle to bric-a-brac.

A breadth over, Tigra breathes heavily, bearing down on Chemistro's cranium. Trapped blood builds bigly. Capillaries burst; temples bulge; eyes engorge; eardrums throb; brains nigh blow. Pinned Chemistro bucks to beat the band and hysterically bridges his back. But there is no countering Tigra's unbreakable claw hold—until Dr. Necker arrives.

From nowhere, Necker brands Tigra with the unplugged soldering iron, blistering her locked limb. Tigra releases flattened fool and bites the hand that fried her. Standing, the Avenger elbows the awful British biologist in the proboscis. Plucky, evil Eve pulls forth a buzzing laser blaster and a long billhook blade. Taken aback (but impressed), Tigra tumbles away. The evasive acrobat alights upon a bier bearing contraband baggage. The beautiful beast beckons Eve and her bilbo. The Scottish shootist draws a bead on the strange breed's brisket instead.

However, unexpectedly, the Alchemy Gun belches balefully first. A brass ball boffs the beastly ballerina's bread basket and buckles the burly girly temporarily in twain. Breathing heavily, Chemistro barely rises. But, another ballistic still breaches a sealed barrel beside Tigra. Element of Doom Bromine disembogues as a gelatinous blob that buries puss' "boats" and bonds her base to the bier.

"Aw bulls***!" bested Tigra blurts stuck standing like Brer Rabbit.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," Eve bids.

Beside her, Curtis behests, "Be calm. Bromine is a sleeping behemoth right now. Usually, Bromine can burn a heroine [see _Thunderbolts _#7]. But presently, besides his bad smell, he'll bring you no harm."

Greer beseeches, "Besides your own noisome bouquet, will you?"

Dr. Carr sibilates something to Dr. Necker. She burbles back. Like b-movie mad scientists, they advance with barefaced bad intent on the babe in a jam.

On the lab's border, a beast blusters and beats his chest, "Oh boy! Oh boy!"

Unbalanced U.S. Agent approaches his inert, battered opponent procumbent on the concrete.

Walker badgers Duval, "Bring it, tough guy! You're about as hard as butter!"

The face-down foe frets, "Are you going to bisect me with that blade?"

"F*** no!" U.S. answers. The scrapper spears the pointed steel into solid limestone.

The wretch whimpers, "Are you going to slam your blazon through my skull and embed it in my head?"

"I ain't got my shield," Agent announces. A bachelor's holder sometimes knows "blazon".

"Good," Grey Gargoyle grins at the ground. Surreptitiously, the prone bastard baits the benighted paladin.

In a blink, the bluffing, cunning bum springs and sucker-punches the super-soldier. Duval's jab rings Walker's brawny bell. A bolo punch smacks blubber (okay, Agent has no blubber). A hook boomerangs the buffoon 360. An unbridled uppercut boosts the blunderer off the earth. Going bonkers, screaming like a banshee, Grey Gargoyle bountifully bangs U.S. Agent about the bunker. Passionate payback bombards the palooka.

"I have battled Thor you f***ing a******," Gargoyle scurrilously submits, "I have been the f***ing bogeyman to She-Hulk, the Beast, the Thing, and Daredevil, the Man Without f***ing Fear. I have bettered the real f***ing Captain America. I won't fall to a bogus wannabe!"

Riled, Walker couples his fists together. The hand-hammer drops the boom on Gargoyle and bonks him. The Captain cocks his duke for an unbound blow that might obliterate, or at least behead banty Gargoyle.

"Cease movement," MODOK manifests in the hero's mind. U.S. Agent pauses in mid-punch and stands stiff in paralysis. Bemused, the "indomitable" Avenger beholds Grey Gargoyle besetting like a basilisk. Instantly, U.S. Agent is completely rigid and made of rock.

"Merci beaucoup, Boss MODOK," Monsieur Duval addresses the air. MODOK must be somewhere, reckons Paul Pierre.

A minute or so earlier, Tigra has butterflies in the stomach. Her legs feel belayed in baklava, and her upper branches feel nettled by burrs. In-between, Chemistro creepily browses her body from abs to bust. The wary werewoman watches the brash wrongdoer by-and-by beeline for her. But backbone never utterly abandons an Avenger, so Greer Nelson bravely brooks Dr. Carr's barbed gaze.

Chemistro clucks his tongue condescendingly. He claims, "You so-called crimefighters have been bothersome today."

Abreast him, a beet-red Necker barks, "You blighters have driven us a bit barmy today!" She bobs her blaster.

"You folks have been a burden to me too," Tigra rebukes.

"Blah-blah-blah," Necker isn't blasé, "We shall not abide any further bulls***e, ya berk!"

"Ooh, ha' I geeven ya the blarney?" Greer mocks Eve's brogue.

Bedeviled Eve obliterates (by laser blast) a bottle beside Greer. "Don't talk back to me," the Scotswoman rebukes, "Don't blab at all if you bundle Ireland and Scotland like an ignoramus."

Blooper acknowledged, Chemistro coolly redirects the conversation, "Does that Jellicle gem imbue you with your powers?" An index finger indicates the tabby talisman bejeweling Tigra's "balcony".

"Nice Broadway reference," Nelson kibitzes.

"Actually, I have Brahmin tastes and have read Eliot," Dr. Carr states back.

"My boo-boo," the Bengal replies. Rebutted, Tigra now feels a little like an ignoramus.

The sinister prig probes, "You know, AIM intelligence posits—believes-that that bold bauble bequeaths you your bestial abilities. Does it? Shall we find out?"

The brazen dastard directs the Alchemy Gun. The business-end bodes ominously, and the Avenger feels entirely perturbed.

"Back off," says she.

The bored-looking boor bores his gaze down the gun's bore. For Tigra, things look bleak.

"You're making a boner," uneasy Greer tells deliberate Curtis.

Unabashed, the blank-faced brigand briefs the belle, "Hydrofluoric acid should mar your bling, that bijou. And, it should even destroy your bikini, leave your bosom bald. And, it should burrow dreadfully into your bones. Prepare to be belittled and blemished." Eve blushes.

The Cat spits spitefully. The rod spits back. Bilge bathes the brooch upon Greer's bodice. Befuddled Tigra examines the blot upon the object balking her breastbone and binding her bra. Although unencumbered by much modesty or fear, Tigra breathes laboriously, awaiting injury and other disturbance.

But, before Tigra's amazed eyes, the besmirched Cat's Head Amulet astoundingly abates the acid! Eldritch facets preserve the bewitched artifact and its possessor. Uncannily, the enchanted item defends flesh and fetish by abruptly cancelling the coming corrosion, absorbing the acid, rebuilding itself, and belching the debasement back out.

"Boffo!" Tigra celebrates that the Cat People totem will not be blasphemed.

The caustic fluoric fluid falls on Bromine and burns and bonds into a bizarre bouillabaisse. Bellowing, the bilious, basic being releases Tigra. Feline feet disembark the blech binding them to birch bier boards. Hackles up, Tigra billows with (seemingly) rabid rage. Before her, a bonny redhead blanches (more than usual) and blenches with fear.

"Oh, bugger," states Eve.

Disturbed Tigra snarls back to the bicuspids. She banks off the table and lands between her two foes. Nelson bangs Necker and Carr's brilliant, debauched heads together. Eve bemoans the collision.

"Bimbo, don't get your bloomers in a bunch," Tigra borrows a line. Like a kickboxer, the bugbear bashes the ball of her foot into a big mouth, disabling a boob.

Tenacious Tigra grabs Chemistro. She bats the Alchemy Gun aside. Unarmed, the AIM Bolshevik abstains from aggression. This belligerent creature could kill him. But, he bypasses panic too, for he boasts a powerful friend. Surely, MODOK will soon soothe the savage beast and save Carr. Chemistro hopes.

From out of the blue, MODOK bushwhacks Tigra. "Sleep, bitch," the abomination boggles her mind.

Volition banned, muscles unbrace. Bewildered Tigra paws Chemistro's costume with numb digits. Burgundy behind her eyeballs, Tigra suffers blepharospasms and bites her tongue. The boozy beauty blacks-out. Subdued, she belly-flops at Chemistro's feet. His boot brushes her buccal and catches some slobber. A contemptuous kick brings her onto her back.

"Now, she will behave," MODOK broadcasts telepathically.

"Beware a bloated ego," Carr bravely warns his boss, "You can bet that this pet can botch your day like 'bam'!" He gesticulates.

"Oh, I know. There is no debate," the big head grants, "Recently, Tigra snubbed my advances—to my great surprise. After extensive anatomical alteration, I had become beautiful, beguiling BRODOK, Bio-Robotic Organism Designed Overwhelmingly for Kissing, and I bothered the babe for a date. But, she boldly broomed me. Left atrabilious and brooding, I abducted her and altered her into a giant monster, such as Fin Fang Foom, who she resembles within. Both Hawkeyes, Bishop and Barton, and a bunch of buttheads opposed me and bailed Tigra's bacon. Tigra bragged that she would hunt me down for the dating debacle [see _West Coast Avengers _v.3 #1-4]. But here, it is I who have bird-dogged and bagged her after all."

"Bravo, bravo! Today has been a bonanza of success," Grey Gargoyle nears Necker and Carr, "I bring a bonus acquisition." Over his shoulder, the stone is a boulder holder.

"Bring the booty to the barge!" MODOK orders in booming inner voice, "On the water, we buccaneers can store these bourgeois banes of our existence. AIM scientists can process the new test subjects by-the-book—or be more Bohemian. Bwa-ha-ha! Bwa-ha-ha!" Somewhere, MODOK basks in bad research's possibilities for U.S. Agent and Tigra.

Humming Brahm's lullaby, Chemistro carries unconscious Tigra to a table. He lays the limber Lady Liberator beside a lanyard and big belted sack.

"Sacré bleu, what is that?" Duval beseeches.

"This is my boondoggle, a project not very practical. Until now," Carr unbuckles the bonds and unfolds the bundle. The boondoggle is a jumbo balloon.

Grey Gargoyle raspberries and chortles.

Chemistro grabs Greer's bangs and brings the rubber neck over her head. He explicates while he interns, "This behemoth balloon is impenetrable. It can hold this bodacious Bigfoot or any other bellicose bogie. Then, the Alchemy Gun can blow a brume of helium into the bubble and create a blimp buoying the beaten before bearing her to the boat, boy. She will even remain blotto, for helium is hard to breathe."

Braggadocious Duval is unimpressed, "You bested Tiger Girl. Big deal. I bring MODOK this marbled beef." Grey Gargoyle boosts petrified U.S. Agent by the pants breech.

Carr banters, "But, bon ami, you forget that I can also bastardize flesh and bone into stone and that my fossilized figures do not blip back to normal in an hour."

Paul Pierre rebuffs, "Pshaw, Tigra is not even a bastard. She is a total b. . . . ."

"Don't say it," Eve Necker admonishes bluntly, "Brilliant men boycott such bawdy diction."

The two broncos beam. They have libertine minds. Besides, Necker just belittled Tigra far beyond just calling her a "bad name".

"Blokes!" the distaff doctor directs rebounding AIM aides, "Be useful. Convey my bloody minion to a transport."

Grey Gargoyle gibes, "The borg's meat may be browned. But, he'll be back!"

"Sure, I can rebuild a bionic man. He will again be at my beck and call," Necker watches the gurney bed brattle by. Duffy's beady orbs give her a bitter look like an angry bodach.

The three eager AIM beavers and their brethren smuggle the beast, the boy scout, and the bogeyman along the Mississippi bottom and bebop twenty-five full miles north to West Alton, Missouri, where the Mississippi and Missouri rivers bifurcate. Their boss bid them come there.


	7. Chap 7: I Spy

**Chapter 7: I Spy**

"We could bicker until the weather turns brumal and the sun totally brews our f***ing brains," Mentallo bends across the picnic bench, "But, I would not recommend that dalliance, Bert."

"I feel a bit betrayed, Marv," Fixer fumes under a baking Sol.

"Boo-hoo, Bert" Marv replies.

Frustrated Fixer wipes sweat, "Barney, do you feel betrayed?"

"That's Mr. Fiddler, Fixer," the fed reproves, "Felons aren't on a first-name basis with me." The sun brutally beats down on Barney's beetled, balding brow.

"The f*** they ain't, Barnabus!" the Thunderbolt remonstrates, "Don't bull****. You are just as filthy as the rest of us. We are all here on business and all 'morally flexible' about how we accomplish it."

Fiddler fingers his sidearm as though at high noon this early afternoon. In his mind, he could fix Fixer easily. But instead, Fiddler indignantly comments, "You must be crazy with the heat. It's as hot as Wakanda around here." The CSA man has been to Wakanda (see _Black Panther _v.3 #26).

"Well, now I f***ing ain't half-baked," Fixer hits a button on his supersuit. A clear shield seals his face, and an AC system cools his scowling mug.

Unimpressed, Fiddler adds, "By the way, Barney isn't short for Barnabus. So, I guess that you're not so smart, genius."

"Does it stand for 'barnacle on the ass of society'?" Ebersol cracks.

Barney clenches his teeth and raises his middle finger. Norbert just smiles. At the picnic table, a tense silence follows. In the surroundings, cicadas sound in the sultry air as mean men stare-down each other. Fixer, Flumm, Fiddler, and a faux frontiersman sit at a table fringed by forest. Gnats buzz their flared nostrils, and horseflies flit upon their sweaty, smelly forms. Turkey vultures soar and tilt overhead.

Exiting the staring contest, Plainsman scouts Big Muddy National Wildlife Refuge. To the right, he scans the Missouri River, the Big Muddy, in the distance. A few ducks dally on its shrubby sandbars as Asian carp erratically break the water. The birds seek soothing shade this scorching day. Surveying the silty waters to shore, Plainsman sees cottonwood strands ensnarling the tall grass along the bank. The green stalks have brown spiders sitting perfectly still in webs scintillating under the unsparing sun. The explorer turns left. He ogles enormous anthills, amazingly high, constructed of burnt umber sand, swarming with their laborious residents, ringed by dandelions and daisies. Plainsman sniffs nearby carrion on the dead air, and he discerns coyote tracks leading to a dead deer, maggot-covered. Methane from the meat distorts the already steamy air. On the horizon, over verdant wetlands, Plainsman spots gathering thunderheads.

The observer assesses this place both idyllic and ominous. "I reckon that we better conclude our business and skedaddle," Plainsman speaks some common sense, "We're likely to have Avengers or other trouble up our butts real soon. Plus, it's gonna rain 'fore long."

Mentallo avers, "Listen to the hillbilly, Bert and Barney. We need to hightail it before Hulk and a hirsute tiger-lady drop from the sky, before U.S. Agent ambushes from the bushes, before Wasp makes a pest of herself, before Speed or law enforcement lope in here."

Essentially a bad person, Fixer cannot let a conflict go—even to make the peace long enough (with a longtime ally) to escape in one piece. "F*** you," says Fixer, "I could stay here all day. I got AC. I ain't in no hurry."

"Let's all just get a cold one, Bert," Mentallo reasons, "Plainsman and I can provide Agent Fiddler his Argon, Element of Doom, and we can all part like professionals."

"F*** you!" Fixer repeats, "Don't f***ing preach to me about friendship and professionalism. You were supposed to be my guard dog at the meeting this morning. Instead, you collaborate with AIM."

Essentially a bad person, Mentallo also cannot let a conflict go. "Don't preach to me about collaboration," Marv declares, "Look at the company that you f***ing keep! You don't work with the government!"

"What?" Bert is baffled, "I f***ing told you early on that we were f***ing working with the f***ing CSA, you f***!"

"You f***ing told me when we were in f***ing Harrisonville!" Flumm declares, "And, s*** has just f***ing went down-f***ing-hill from there."

"How?" Ebersol queries, "How has s*** went downhill because of me? You're the f***ing a****** who bypassed Berkeley for no good g***** reason! We could have comfortably exchanged s*** with the CSA at a secure facility f***ing hours ago. But, you had to be a headcase, Mentallo."

"I had good reason!" Fixer's partner pounds a fist, "Berkeley, Missouri, has Shaw Industries. Shaw Industries manufactures Sentinels for the Commission on Superhuman Activities and Project: Wideawake and other fascist United States endeavors. An ex-Resistant—or any mutant—would be mad to visit its odious environs."

Fixer shrugs, "Everyone's f***ing offended these days."

Mentallo spits. He states, "Yeah boy, I'm afraid that I must insist on a safe space so that my f***ing chest isn't open for some government vivisectionist to violate like a frog in a tray. Such a macro-aggression would make me uncomfortable."

"You're paranoid," Barney mumbles, "We don't do that sort of thing—for the most part."

"You're paranoid," Bert repeats, "Thus, we are in Big Muddy Refuge on a dog day of August while the sun cooks three of us like weenies. How smart is that, oh brilliant Mentallo?"

"Also," Fiddler interjects, "The Avengers surely draw ever closer because we stupidly drove out to the boondocks of Boonville instead of staying in the safety of St. Louis."

"Don't knock Boonville," Plainsman rejoins, "It is the hometown of Sara Evans."

"Well, I don't know who that is, Daniel Boone," Fiddler does not know his country music.

At the moment, Fixer does not give a fig about country music. He flings his hands up. He fusses, "Marv, like I f***ing said, I feel betrayed. The CSA comes to me in good faith. I let you in on the fun. And, this is how you f***ing repay me. Wow. I thought that you were a professional and a friend."

Barney adds, "When the government contracts you scumbags, it expects better than association with AIM and surprise insubordination."

"Don't be surprised that you summoned the devil and he didn't behave," Marvin chuckles, "Fixer and I are bad guys, and bad guys are who you wanted associating with AIM. If not, you should have just sent hero-guy Hyperion."

The spy startles, "How do you know about Hyperion?"

"I mind-probed you just now," Mentallo explains, "As Ben Franklin wrote, if you lie down with dogs, you get fleas. You know, fleas who suck-out your blood—and thoughts. And, take your dignity."

Already red with the heat, Fiddler flushes more sanguine from embarrassment and anger. With clenched fists, he stands-up and stares-down Mentallo. The Psycho-Helmet's visor reflects the outfoxed, outraged fed.

Smirking, Mentallo smugly explicates, "I know your whole plan, Barn. You and the CSA want protection from the powerhouse hero Hyperion. He is such a force of nature that this so-called superhero has owned Iron Man in a battle [see _Hyperion _#6] and even slain Sub-Mariner [see _Squadron Supreme _v.4 #1]. By beheading him, no less. No s***.

"When not pacifying Earth's protectors, this 'strange visitor from another planet' pummels us so-called bad guys, no problem. He plows through us like a powerful locomotive.

Ever since AIM extracted him from another dimension, and the Avengers rescued him [see _Avengers _v.5 #4], Hyperion has seemed unstoppable. And, he has been unregulated by Washington."

"In truth, he is scary," the CSA agent just admits, "He is unguided by the American Way."

"Thus, you seek any means to control him," Mentallo says, "The Commission will even commission two criminals to procure an Element of Doom."

"Specifically," Fixer interjects, "you seek some rare mutable argon. Usually, a.r. is a very stable element. However, the CSA seeks to synthesize some precious argonite, for argonite is the only substance known to weaken Hyperion. You want me to make some at an Iowa university after our current business."

Barney Fiddler hisses in disgust. He had planned to offer the Ames assignment after Mentallo and Plainsman left. That quiet campus is very important. It is essential to this nation's security, and its operational secrecy is imperative to the location's success. Fiddler is very pissed to encounter informational compromise.

"Hey, some of that s***'s classified" is all that Barney can bark back.

"I hacked your computer and communications. Any Thunderbolt, especially Techno, knows CSA equipment and procedures pretty well," Fixer confesses, "When hiring help, the CSA should remember that there is no honor among crooks. I don't trust you, and you _shouldn't_ trust me, son."

"I second that notion." Mentallo states, "We four are all a bit duplicitous. Fixer compromised your computer. You were bluffing before about definitively knowing of my AIM collaboration. You did not definitely know.

"Rather, Plainsman's head circuitry secretly livestreamed this morning's meeting to CSA associates. Their names are Dr. Andie Sterman, a psychiatrist, and Allie Magruder, a computer tech. Those two ladies analyzed my body language and voice patterns and guessed that AIM and I were on good terms as in the past.

Being equally sneaky and intrusive, I plumbed your little mind for this information—punk."

Perspiring profusely, Fiddler flicks sweat like sewage. It seemingly evaporates before it can spatter Flumm. Teeth bared, Barney would love to shoot his adversary across the table. Trained to withstand intense interrogation, the agent is peeved about how easily this pissant probed his brain.

But, Barney gets no chance to blow away good ol' Marv.

Suddenly, Plainsman slams a certain steel canister on the wooden table, "We must conclude our business. It's hotter than hell out here and perhaps getting hotter." Plainsman points west.

Two hundred feet away, a park ranger approaches the queer quartet. Strangely, no one noticed her previously. Butterscotch hair sways on the slight breeze as her buxom form sashays casually closer. She seems unconcerned to be approaching two supervillains in full garb and two oddly-appareled survivalists, one dressed like centuries ago and one clothed in the cutting edge. Of course, Spider-Woman, Julia Carpenter, has no need for apprehension. The Avengers have their enemies in their web.

As Spider-Woman approaches from the west, Wasp bugs-in from the east. Momentarily, she pesters the picnic table occupants: pegging Mentallo across the puss, popping-up in Fiddler's face, pelting Plainsman repeatedly, and then plowing into Fixer with such force that he pratfalls on his ass.

From the grass, Fixer figures that "That's the Wasp!"

Before any crook can react, Speed sails in (over soil) and seizes Mentallo. In a nanosecond, Speed streaks him west and then north and then southeast and then east toward the Missouri River. Scrambled himself, Mentallo cannot scramble any Avenger's brain like before. Over the open water, Shepherd easily skates until abruptly stopping mid-channel. Shepherd spins about-face for shore. Flumm, naturally, plunges instead of floating. With a slight splash, the psionic is cooled from the day and removed from the fray. Struggling desperately in the current really breaks the telepath's concentration further.

Consternated, Plainsman scopes the advancing ranger with his bionic eye. Suddenly, she rips away a rubber disguise revealing an arachnid mask beneath. Spider-Woman sprints for Barney and Buffalo Bill. Plainsman cants forward to stand, but he can't. Weird psychic webbing constricts about his legs. And, it adheres his arms to the picnic table top. Arriving, Spider-Woman picks-up the table. Furiously, she flips it back and forth, to and fro. If Hulk can beat a mischief-maker so in the movies, Julia can do so during this marvelous Missouri mission.

Fiddler flops on the canister, fallen from the table, like a fumbled football. Spider-Woman notices him, collars him, and flings the felonious fed forth through the sky. Fifty feet away, he splashes in swamp froth with the frogs and the sunfish. In the shore shallows, the filthy, jarred, corrupt fed feels sore.

From his position, Fixer ogles the canister at Spider-Woman's feet. He fixes to fetch it. But, instantly, Wasp zaps his faceshield. But, to little effect. Frowning, the faux fairy fires-up her discharge. Miniature lightning bolts dance wide. Wasp delivers an unbridled discharge directly on her foe. Unmitigated electricity flashes frenetically throughout Fixer's suit. However, Ebersol is not stunned in the least. Rather, his suit stores the substantial static and shoots it right back at Wasp and Spider-Woman. Internal computer AIDA even aims the electric bolts impeccably. Steaming Wasp goes down stung. Singed Spider-Woman slaps herself several times, summoning focus. Swiftly, Fixer scoops up the steel and attaches the stolen cylinder to his belt. The villain thinks that he will bilk Fiddler of his prized booty.

"Catch me if you can," Fixer taunts the two crimefighters. Techno rockets westward into the obscuring forest.

Resilient, riled Wasp shoots after Fixer. Spider-Woman sets her boots into motion to follow. But, a busted-up cyborg splits, splinters, explodes the wood atop him. And he stands staring down Julia and swearing up a storm. Cerebrum perhaps swelling, Plainsman staggers slobbering toward Spider-Woman. Sighing, she simply sidekicks Plainsman's midsection, and he slides sloppily across the soil. He comes to still rest.

Spider-Woman scans the treeline, but she sees no battle before her. Only smoke in the distance. Fixer and Wasp must be far away by now. She scratches her head. Where is Speed when you need him? He could catch his comrade and the criminal.

A moment earlier, Speed whizzes back toward the bench to remove another rogue. Fiddler would be a fine choice.

Out of nowhere, Mentallo manifests beside Speed. Amazingly, he seems to match Speed's prodigious pace. Seemingly, he matches the speedster step-for-step. The illusion fully fools the Young Avenger. Then, like a yahoo, tricky Mentallo trips fleet-footed Tommy. The kid smacks the long stretch of mud before them (which resembles the Big Muddy's bottom) and skips roughly over the muck. From the muggy air, Mentallo molds a make-believe mallet and malevolently makes for Speed. Swiftly, stalwart Speed stands. Just as quickly, the mallet mashes the Mercury waist-deep into the mud.  
Smirking, Mentallo shambles through the slop away from trapped Tommy.

Suddenly, the whole scene changes. Speed finds himself stuck in a sandbar amidst the flowing Missouri. Mentallo stands over him sopping wet and spitting silty river water. Speed's costume is dry and unsoiled, except for his trapped legs. This scene seems real. Tommy thinks about things. Somehow, Mentallo summoned Speed back while the fink fought drowning.

"My mind is faster than your feet," the chicaner chokes. The super-goon grossly clears his nose with a forceful farmer snot.

"You give mutants a bad name," comments Shepherd.

"So do you. You associate with U.S. Agent, persecutor the Resistants," Flumm counters, "Where's your pride?"

"I am proud to associate with U.S. Agent," Tommy counters, "He is an established ally of Scarlet Witch, my mom, a most famous mutant."

"An infamous mutie," Marv rebuts, "She caused M-Day and 'no more mutants'. Now, _that's_ a case of lacking f***ing pride."

"Mind your own hubris," Speed admonishes, "You ain't too quick if you think sand will hold kid Quicksilver."

With vim, Speed vibrates his entire form. Wet sand explodes outward. It sprays and blasts Mentallo, scouring his suit and skin. In a flash, Speed swipes the psychic off of his feet and propels him past Fixer and friends (Spider-Woman, Wasp, and planked Plainsman) before Fixer even rockets away himself. The two seem to disappear into the west.

A moment later, Wasp weaves through the woods in pursuit of Fixer. Forest shade eases this afternoon's infernal heat a little. The wee wonder watches the bushes and the boughs for a rascal about to ambush. She peers far ahead for any apparent sign of an escaping adversary. Pausing, Wasp pirouettes 360 to see any sign of Fixer at all. Her fluttering wings are glowing gossamer in a single beam of sun entering a sylvan clearing. Wasp herself is fantastic nature amidst roosting songbirds and pungent jack pine. A balmy breeze barely wriggles a thousand pretty twigs and their beautiful needles.

But, the beryl boughs conceal a green-garbed guerilla. Camouflaged, Fixer kneels frozen. He hopes to escape Scot free yet. The Avenger need only _not_ notice him. Furtively, Fixer observes the glamorous gal. She stops spinning. Wasp assesses the shrubbery's shadows. Their eyes meet.

Bert brandishes his blaster. A bolt should ignite the copious pine needles beneath Wasp. She should experience her second fireball today, after the Rowen. Jan jukes aside and journeys wide. Like a jouster, she jockeys for her foe. Jostling branches aside, Wasp generates a giant static jolt. Intense electricity unleashes at Fixer's feet and ignites the dried discard under him instead.

Evergreen debris explodes around Ebersol. Smoke and fire surround him as the kindling combusts upon soggy soil. "S***!" shouts Fixer semi-stunned and unable to see. Wasp does an Immelmann and barrels like a bullet for Fixer's body armor. She bops him backward into burning boscage and then blasts boughs above him, bringing raining wood on his head. Fixer falls down on the fiery ground. He appears helpless as flames sear his suit and surely scorch him.

But, Fixer feigns. His suit can resist the heat.

At full-size, Jan lands beside supine Bert. Teary-eyed, she blinks in the thick smoke and struggles to breath. The horrible heat harasses her, and the intrepid Avenger resolves to get her enemy back into the one-hundred degree day, where it is cooler. Wasp kneels over inert, "neutralized" Fixer.

Flat Fixer goes low-tech with a low move. Techno's flashlight momentarily blinds Wasp before he bonks her on the noggin. The kneeler falls over. The bad guy drags the brunette, by the boot, through the smoldering tinder. She vigorously bats burning debris aside. Abruptly, he grabs her wrists and wrenches her upright against a tree. Wasp grimaces grated. Spraying some sticky stuff, Fixer affixes her gloves to a sapling.

The Master of Evil pronounces, "Wasp, you are an ever worthy foe—while also always being kind of a bimbo. Bye." The major jerk jets skyward.

Shuffling on unmerciful embers, Wasp considers how she must also make her escape. She cogitates a shake and a sec. Then, the experienced metahuman adroitly makes her hands shrink from her unstable molecule gloves, which would normally shrink with her. Huffing and heaving soot, Wasp rides the conflagration's updraft into the seething sunlight. She sees no sign of Fixer. There are only approaching thunderheads in the distance.

Meanwhile, down below, Spider-Woman restrains recumbent Plainsman by plying picnic table piping around him. She concentrates on wrapping the pioneer as an arachnid would its prey. So occupied, Julia seemingly notices not a scrappy Barney approaching. A disheveled and disoriented Fiddler staggers forth from the mire into which he was thrown. In his mitts, he prepares a powerful petard to harm his seemingly oblivious adversary. He pulls the pin. The grenade soars. The assailant smiles.

Still, even sans Spider-Sense, Madame Web is perfectly perceptive. Without looking, Spider-Woman snatches the incoming explosive and spins around, all in one fell swoop. The munition speedballs back to its source. Barney bats the bomb away—but not far. It blows. The blast buffets. Julia jaunts to injured Fiddler. Carpenter fractures the firearm which he defiantly draws. She teases him that CSA must stand for "corrupt slobs annihilated". The humbled g-man surrenders to the superior Spider-Woman.

To the west, g-force should have Mentallo unconscious by now. But, mutants are a tough lot, as Speed appreciates. The ol' Resistant is still alert and not under-control. Thinking fast, Speed swishes Mentallo violently about and scuds him near the solid, unforgiving earth. Anything to keep the telepath distracted. Luckily, rocketing Mentallo remains reeling.

Suddenly, Speed skids to a stop. He swiftly slaps a scoundrel seventeen times in a single second. In the next, Tommy u-turns and takes off. Muddled Marvin lunges forward angrily, ready to avenge himself on an Avenger. The menace plummets eighty feet off of a railroad trestle over the Missouri River, one hundred miles from Boonville, at Kansas City. Fortunately, supervillains tend to defy death.

In the east, Fixer fortuitously finds the pick-up that brought Mentallo and Plainsman to Big Muddy. It is the lone vehicle in a dirt parking lot adjacent hiking trails. Fixer considers taking the truck. But, he thinks better of that idea. Undoubtedly, the Avengers have made the auto while waiting in ambush.

Ebersol decides to hurriedly become inconspicuous. Hastily, he strips his clothes and stows them in a duffel bag secreted in his suit. The lout now merely looks like a park goer clad for the wilting weather.

An eighteen-wheeler idles on nearby Highway 98. Fixer tramps for the rig. He does not want to seize the cab. A stolen semi is easy to track via GPS. A stolen semi is also a big, easy-to-spot vehicle. Thus, Fixer undoes a few locks and enters the refrigerated trailer, avoiding any heat. Argon accompanies him.


	8. Chap 8: Don't Be Shy

**Chapter 8: Don't Be Shy**

Wasp watches rush hour from the Rowen's top story. Beneath her, traffic treks like ants along I-44. Above, thunderclouds accumulate across the entire wide sky. Gray gathers for miles around and provides ominous atmosphere east over Illinois and north and south over St. Louis. The morose view matches Wasp's mood magnificently, but Ms. van Dyne remains unimpressed. The ersatz aristocrat is too irritated within to appreciate the wonders without. Wasp pouts—still pissed and pissy that Fixer got away.

Besides, the original Avenger habitually experiences such heights, so she does not see their beauty like Bruce Banner, another original Avenger, does behind her.

From the bar, Bruce asks, "May I get you another martini, Jan? You know, it's five o'clock somewhere. For example, back in New York."

Surly, Wasp replies, "I do not need alcohol, boy. For all I know, earlier inebriation caused me to _f***-up_ in Boonville. To use the vernacular."

"Yeah," Bruce wryly notes, "you have mentioned Fixer's escape just a few times since returning."

"Please cheer-up, Jan," Spider-Woman says from the sofa, "We captured two criminals and eliminated another."

Peevish Wasp counters, "So what? Plainsman and the Fiddler will be roaming the range again really soon. The government isn't going to jail two of its own for long."

"So what?" Spider-Woman comments, "We can just recapture the clowns continually until they—maybe someday—learn their lesson. It's what we heroes do. I ain't worried."

Wasp will not have it, "Well, we did not capture Mentallo at all. Instead, Speed stupidly dropped him off in Kansas City. KC native Whirlwind probably whisked him up, and they are likely on their way to St. Louis right now."

"The odds of that event are low," Dr. Banner states, "Whirlwind routinely wreaks havoc in New York, not here."

"Yeah, Jan, smile," Speed snickers, "I dunked Mentallo in the Big Muddy drink—twice—in two separate locales. How highly hilarious is that?"

"It is not," Wasp insists, "The miscreant could be on his way across Missouri right now to re-mess our minds and make us miserable."

Speed shrugs, "Shall I circumnavigate the state quick? I could check med facilities for Marvin Flumm after his eighty-foot fall."

"No need," Spider-Woman assures, "Surely, you knocked a bad guy off of the board. We should be more concerned about adversaries who are still out there."

"Like Fixer," Wasp fumes.

"Agreed, Jullia," the Young Avenger ignores glum Jan, "And, we should perhaps be concerned about our two absent colleagues."

"True," Bruce tips his whiskey tumbler, "U.S. Agent and Tigra went underground to investigate AIM infrastructure secreted under St. Louis, and they have not communicated with me since."

"Their subterranean locale could suppress even a satellite signal," old spy Carpenter comments, "Or, AIM could easily have jamming equipment operating in its lair."

"Let us tour the tunnels ourselves then," Speed suggests, "We shall know John and Greer's status soon enough."

Spider-Woman stands, "Let us not be rash, Flash. We should tour the tunnels after composing a plan of attack. That approach worked beautifully at Big Muddy."

"No it didn't. Fixer got away," Wasp grumbles.

Dr. Banner observes Ms. van Dyne in her "grief", and he grinds the teeth in his green-tinged gums. Grimacing, he growls from his tight groin to his greasy locks. His left hand grips the bar's top as though to crack it. His right hand grasps his liquor glass. Sometimes, Bruce wishes that he were his father Brian. He would swat Jan the same way that Dad did Mom.

Suddenly, Bruce pauses. He glares into his glinting grog. Apparently, certain sauce ever affects the Banner brain a certain way. The doctor had hoped that some rotgut, inhibition killer, would goad his greater self forth, for his anatomy still cannot fully engorge to green. But, a Banner must always find a way to control the raging spirit that dwells within him lest a superhero commit gross misconduct.

Shaking his head, the wobbly man weaves his blurry hand directly to the brown bottle. He takes a burning belt and thinks of his father.

From the side, someone speaks. "Bruce! Can you handle coordination?" Julia inquires. She has been speaking to Tommy about something while Bruce imbibed.

"Shhh-ure," Bruce slurs.

"I like your plan," Speed tells Spider-Woman, "But, may I suggest, though, that I confront Grey Gargoyle once found. Wasp and you are both great, but you each may struggle to subdue the stone man. I would not. I can simply vibrate my fingers into the French fiend and wreck him to rubble. Voila."

"That tactic's harsh. "Are you hero or villain?" Spider-Woman wonders bemused.

Speed winks, "Just call me Quicksilver, Jr."

Wasp walks over, "We should invade AIM soon whether Speed shatters some supervillain or not. Woman's intuition tells me that U.S. Agent and Tigra met trouble."

"Me too," Julia smirks, "In fact, basic human logic tells me that our mates met trouble."

Jan curls her lip and furrows her brow, "No one cares, Julia." Don't ever upstage or correct a narcissist!

"I care, Julia. Surely, we all care," Speed swoops in. Surprisingly, Shepherd successively slaps each elder on the back lickety-split. She scowls, and the other she smiles.

Spider-Woman states, "We need to get to the missing Avengers' last known coordinates."

"We need to get there in a hurry," Speed agrees.

"But, where exactly is there?" Wasp seeks intelligence.

"I'm ssstill coordinated enough to fffetch coordin'tes," Banner reports.

"OR, I COULD PROVIDE THEM!" an unmuddled, unmuted, unexpected great voice booms like thunder startling, shivering, shaking the heroes. It reverberates like an explosion.

Suddenly, a blinding luminosity invades the Avengers' den as though the torrid sun consumes the Earth. It is as though Apollo himself accosts our heroes. Bruce and Jan tuck their assaulted eyes tight. Spider-Woman seals her sight and summons her fortitude. Stunned Speed shields his goggles and stoops to his knees under the searing sensory assailment.

"LET THERE BE LIGHT!" peals the powerful presence.

Jan painfully peers through her fingers at the effulgent form. She shrinks to Wasp size and intrepidly propels herself at the mammoth interloper. The proud woman has led the Avengers before, and she does so now.

"Let there be light yourself," Wasp retorts as her sting reports.

MODOK lowers both the aureole and his voice. "You know, I do not know why I quoted the Bible just now," the evil Scientist Supreme puzzles, "I am a devout atheist."

"You're both an atheist and a complete a-hole," Wasp issues another point-blank blast upon the freak's big face.

In response, the rotund rascal surprisingly raspberries Wasp. MODOK mocks, "I am also an illusion, for I am not really at the Rowen."

"But, you wan' usss to come where'er you are 'cause you have a terrific trap ssset to elim'nate Avengers," Bruce Banner is a veteran of villains' vile schemes.

"Even the inebriated Hulk understands," the abomination remarks, "Indeed, I invite you four to West Alton, Missouri, twenty-eight miles north, where the Mississippi and Missouri rivers split. I shall shellac you super-schlubs there, if you chumps are not chicken of my champs."

MODOK does further telepathic projection. Grey Gargoyle, Chemistro, and armed AIM agents apparently appear in the penthouse. They menace. But, the Avengers are a little unimpressed. Wasp tsks-tsks and indicates TTFN. Speed turns a finger in the air signaling "big deal". Carpenter thumbs her nose. Puny Banner simply gives the finger. Then, MODOK's manifestation disappears.

A distance north, MODOK, in the flesh, addresses Chemistro and Grey Gargoyle before him. They are below deck in a large barge on the Mississippi. Advanced machinery and yellow-suited staff occupy the space about them. Of that machinery, the a.c. is perhaps the most important. The steel vessel would promptly become a tin-can oven without it, and MODOK is 750lbs of brain and body. You do not want to experience when the sweat sluices down his brow.

The boat bow bobs as gathering storms blow upon the Mississippi's brackish waters. In the prow, MODOK blusters, "Soon, I shall destroy the Avengers!"

"You sound like a stereotypical supervillain," Chemistro sputters.

"Oh come on! I've got to have some fun," spouts MODOK in his most stereotypical nerdy voice offering geekdom's most stereotypically irritating line.

Grey Gargoyle guffaws and giggles heartily like a dork. Getting slightly more serious, he queries MODOK, "What other fun do you plan besides the fun that we are already having?"

The big head explicates, "My big plan is to, first, keep U.S. Agent and Tigra immobilized and, therefore, inactive."

"I touch both regularly to keep them in their place. It is my pleasure," Gargoyle wiggles his wicked digits.

XL lips lick themselves, "I also plan for us to squash Wasp, the Spider, and Speed when they infest this boat."

"Yeah! Let's bring a bodacious beat-down," Chemistro crows outwardly.

"Although, we outlaws always plan a big beat-down—before the do-gooders f***ing deliver one of their own," Chemistro thinks inwardly.

"Hey, I heard that!" the titanic temperamental telepath trumpets. The Mental Organism Designed Only for Killing readies a massive, malevolent mind-ray from his headband. His brows burns with ominous psionic energy.

Dr. Carr cowers slightly. The project head (for the Elements of Doom project) wants to reason that he is essential personnel. But, he knows that he ultimately is not. After all, Earth-616 has just a few mad scientists, including crazed chemists, running around.

Dr. Duval kindly takes the heat off his colleague, "Chief, you forget to mention the Hulk, a.k.a. Bruce Banner. How are we obliterating him too? How are we handling the Hulk?"

"By my genius," MODOK answers, "I never imagined that U.S. Agent would be so imprudent as to bring a monster into St. Louis when he must have suspected that I already have one sitting here, ready to rampage." The skipper points to the aft on the other end of the ship.

"You reference Fin Fang Foom, correct?" Carr quietly inquires.

The boss fumes, "Fie! I do not reference Fin Fang f***ing Foom, you fool! Does the area over yon look like it houses a fifty-foot beast?! No! It contains a different WMD!"

"Wait," Chemistro cups an ear, "You brought a nuke into the St. Louis metro?"

MODOK menaces, "Fie again! How wrong-headed do you think I am? Apparently, as twisted as you!"

Telekinesis twirls Chemistro tornadically around in a blur. Then, MODOK dumps him like dizzy debris on the dingy floor. Cad Grey Gargoyle laughs at his chastised colleague, but only to stay in MODOK's good graces.

Gargoyle inquires, "MODOK, what monsters _will _be aiding AIM in our awesome efforts?"

"Both the Hulk and my secret weapon," the autocratic entity answers.

"The Hulk will be our helper?" the granite golem is boggled.

"Yes, I am about to re-activate his powers after Mentallo suppressed them," MODOK states, "The Avengers should bring him right to us to attack."

"The Hulk is on his way. I guess that that is good," says the boggled slightly befuddled.

"Should I be on my way before he arrives?" Dr. Necker surprises the trio. MODOK is intrigued that Eve approached undetected. He wonders what device that she wears that stifles his substantial situational awareness.

MODOK addresses Eve, "Follow the plan that we discussed earlier. You aid our efforts best that way."

"Understood," Dr. Necker about-faces on her high heels. She plans to execute the plan to have Tigra off-site when the Avengers come looking to rescue their comrade. Continuing to have the Cat in captivity should offer AIM some advantage over Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

Dr. Carr watches Dr. Necker leave. Correcting his mussed costume, Chemistro calmly consults MODOK, "Sir, I have a question."

"Yeah what?!" the Scientist Supreme snarls.

Shoulders squaring, Chemistro gamely accosts the awful AIM alpha, "You are triggering the Hulk once he reaches West Alton, correct?"

"Correct, Chemistro," curt answer.

Curtis Carr counters, "Wouldn't a smarter strategy be to set rampaging Hulk loose in St. Louis? You could surprise our nemeses right now if you did, and they would never even arrive here. Why not do that?"

MODOK clicks his colossal tongue and squints his large lids. "Hubris!" the big head hollers, "I sarcastically say that I have a huge hubris. So, I intend to toy with them in-person instead of at an impersonal distance."

Because he is above all things (in-theory), the advanced organism ignores the irritating, insolent insubordinate. MODOK closes his eyes and concentrates. He cases Bruce Banner's mind miles south.

At the Rowen, Banner breaks a bourbon bottle in his hand. His enlarging physique rips his clothing a little. And, he metamorphosizes a mite. Tinged green, he releases a fistful of glass shards from his clenched hand. No scarlet or slicing appears. His widened jaw smiles broadly while wide-eyed Spider-Woman, Speed, and even Wasp smile back.

Carpenter quips, "It appears that alcohol has solved all of your problems."

"Puny" Banner expands further and entirely loses his shirt. He snorts bestially. He settles his substantial weight on the bar. Hulk states, "Hulk will help raid AIM. Stupid MODOK will not see Green Goliath coming."

"Glad to have you," Wasp notes, "If we find Fixer, f*** him up for me." Jersey girl Janet van Dyne speaks some Jersey girl.

The colossal creature chuckles at Jan's joke. "Heh-heh-heh, you're funny," the beast belly-laughs increasingly, "Hey! Did you see when Hulk gave stupid MODOK the middle finger? Ha ha ha!"

"Yeah, I liked that," Speed assents, "Hopefully, we can all give AIM the American eagle soon."

Suddenly, there is a knock on the apartment door. Instantly, Speed opens it (after checking the peephole, of course).

Some strapping guy stands there. "Hi," the newcomer says, "I am Jason Strongbow. With all due respect, I give you august Avengers the American Eagle."

"I have heard of you," intelligence agent Carpenter considers Strongbow. She believes that Orville Sanderson's FBI has occasionally contacted and contracted this obscure champion of justice. The bureau boss likely guided American Eagle here to help in the same way that he sent Spider-Woman.

"I have heard of you," van Dyne extends a greeting hand. The former Avengers chairwoman knows her stuff and her Avenger Files.

"Would you like to go wallop some AIM ass?" Hulk cordially invites his new best friend.

"I would," Strongbow steps inside the penthouse and joins the party.


	9. Chap 9: Quite the Guy

**Chapter 9: Quite the Guy**

"I would not believe this unless I was seeing it," Jason Strongbow, American Eagle, blinks several times. Of course, he has extraordinarily acute eyesight, so Strongbow consistently sees astounding things.

Julia Carpenter, Spider-Woman, slowly shakes her head, "Yeah, that is not typical supervillain behavior. Bad guys are usually sneaky."

"Perhaps, his brains melt in the heat like ours," speculates Jan van Dyne, Wasp.

The oppressive heat is nearly unbearable in nigh-abandoned Confluence Point State Park in West Alton, MO, where the Mississippi and Missouri rivers split. Only heroes and the homeless are intrepidly out in this awful August day's elements—except for one clown. Chemistro, conspicuous in his red suit, stands openly upon an expansive barge in the middle of the Mississippi, nine hundred feet from shore. Hot westerly winds blow upon the Avengers' backs, over the water, and into the craven criminal's face. He looks at the superheroes summoned to a trap this late afternoon. He looks past them at the tall, black clouds barreling toward the assembled. Darkness arrives much earlier today than usual.

Surveying the coming squall, Chemistro hopes that his boss MODOK has not supplemented Mother Nature's forming fracas. Five Avengers—Hulk, Wasp, Spider-Woman, Speed, and some costumed guest—are a lot of do-gooders to defeat. Hell, the Incredible Hulk alone is approximately impossible to beat.

Right on cue, Hulk lets loose and bellows, "AARGH! Hulk sees puny Chemistro over there! Hulk smash stupid scuzzball!" Going ballistic, the Jade Giant jumps far into the air in an ominous arc for the AIM ark. The incoming ogre ululates awfully. But, Chemistro keeps composed. Surprisingly, he simply sidesteps Greenskin and shoots his Alchemy Gun at the barge's topside. The devious device destabilizes solid steel. The leviathan lands unexpectedly into liquid, and shocked Hulk splashes right through the hull.

"Sonofa . . ." he shouts before disappearing. Chemistro smirks. Sounds of battle erupt below deck.

Incensed, Speed immediately runs across the Mississippi. Arms wide, Chemistro whips a mass of "marbles" aloft and wide. A batch of magnesium flares explodes blinding the bolting Avenger. Tommy nearly breaks his damn face upon impacting the barge. Body bounced back, bonked Shepherd spills roughly over the Mississippi. Upon stopping, stunned Shepherd submerges slightly. But, ever resilient, the Young Avenger resurfaces. He spits riverwash and treads water. Annoyed, the boy blows blood from a broken nose and bares angry teeth. Amused, crafty Chemistro aims the Alchemy Gun from the AIM craft. Instantly, lead materializes around Speed's legs. The heavy metal drags the dashing speedster down like bait for blue cats.

From shore, Strongbow dives like an eagle after a fish. Jason recalls that American Eagle and Spider-Woman had planned to hold their considerable breath and swim underwater anyway. They were going to surprise the bad guys on the barge. But, well, the bastards surprised the superheroes instead. A powerful breaststroke propels the enhanced human through the murk. His enhanced senses have some chance of detecting Speed in the depths.

On the deck, Chemistro cracks a wide grin. Carr has got to give it to MODOK. The cerebral monstrosity has computed the Avengers' initial strategy almost perfectly. So far, no hero has known what hit him. AIM's players have had essentially precognition.

Then, an assailant interrupts Carr's enjoyment. Suddenly, a long lamppost lances the ship's freeboard to the left. The twenty-foot pipe projectile barely misses Chemistro, and the goggle-eyed bad guy gulps surprised. Sans warning, a big tree bough whistles past the flabbergasted felon like a spear. Suddenly, a boulder blocks the few sunbeams circumventing the arriving storm. Reflexively, Chemistro blasts copious oxidizer from his Alchemy Gun, destroying the rock.

The sinister scientist scans the shoreline. He sees that Spider-Woman, with great arm, tosses tackle the three football fields to him. Chemistro keeps blasting incoming objects as Arachne momentarily occupies him with flying soil, sidewalk, benches, and miscellany.

Under anyone's radar, Wasp launches herself planning a sneak attack. The small scrapper scuds over the aquatic expanse, nearly imperceptible. Although, unbeknownst to her, mastermind MODOK mentally monitors the Wasp's flight while multitasking with the Hulk, so. . . . .

Under the hull, Hulk thrashes AIM agents like fodder. They fire ray guns. They activate booby-traps. They try various nasty inventions. They dogpile. But, ordinary agents can neither contain nor conquer the Incredible Hulk. And, extraordinary agents such as Grey Gargoyle are curiously not in sight. Fortunately, for the throng, an amazing AIM adversary assails the abominable Avenger.

MODOK concentrates a moment, and his mind control immobilizes the rampaging beast. Telekinesis casually yanks the half-ton Hulk down the ship corridor to AIM's captain in the bow. MODOK considers the powerful captive before him. Terrific rage flashes in the titanic catch's eyes. A tremendous thunderclap sounds close-by. It quakes the entire barge as Hulk wishes that he could.

Amused MODOK ogles his old foe and continues to execute a nefarious plan. "The Avengers are going down" is G. Tarleton's tawdry thought.

To starboard. "Gee, I love entering water during an electrical storm," Spider-Woman states to herself. The wonder woman wades into the Mighty Mississippi as mini-missiles shriek past. They explode upon the bank that Julia has abandoned. Two AIM troops have come to Chemistro's aid. They fire ordinance at Spider-Woman who expediently submerges herself. She swims vigorously for the villains' vessel as was the original plan anyway.

Of course, American Eagle already has a lead on Arachne. Underwater, Eagle approaches the area where Speed sank. Strongbow dips toward bottom, thirteen feet down, where Tommy must stand trapped and troubled.

But, out of nowhere, Speed startlingly shoots past American Eagle, tipping him aback and turning him topsy-turvy. Like a torpedo, Tommy speeds for the surface with awesome arms spinning like twin propellers. Instantaneously, he breaches the channel and breathes heartily in.

However, Speed is not done surging. He acts fast. The Avenger's arms keep spiraling unreservedly, and they form twin waterspouts wafting him from the water. In the sky, Speed is a tenebrous silhouette against the arriving brightly burning lightning and fiercely rolling firmament. As Chemistro views vexed, Speed vibrates his legs from the leaden casts as though they were mercury. The bonds melt and drop.

Forthwith, Carr flees from Speed. Dodging between raindrops, the dastard would lead the boy into some booby-trap abroad the barge. But, a deluge of silty Miss crashes over Chemistro, and Speed suddenly stands before him. In a blur, a torrent of blows buffet the soaked sap, slugging and slapping him around. Like the wind, someone swift secures Chemistro against a support—sans Alchemy Gun or any other weapon (seemingly). The bested brigand slumps—in submission (seemingly). Speed shakes a scolding finger in victory.

Meanwhile, valorous Jason Strongbow struggles in the Mississippi's strong current and suffocating waters. Flapping his extremities, American Eagle is upright expeditiously. Eying his bubbles, the warrior whip-kicks after his rising oxygen.

But, from nowhere, a scudding submarine knocks Strongbow silly. Someone escapes the AIM vessel in a compact craft. And, by chance, a loose cable fishtails behind the boat. And, by pure coincidence or devious calculation, the errant mooring captures Eagle's ankle as the itinerant u-boat accelerates northward. Slop sloughs up his nose and down into his lungs. The streaking sub harshly drags drowning Jason by the taut hawser. "What a revoltin' development this is" is Eagle's only thought, borrowed from buddy the Thing (see _Marvel Two-in-One Annual _#6).

Back at the barge, Hulk's considerable brawn strains to strike a snickering MODOK. The sinister supreme scientist psionicist stares down Hulk stopped in his tracks—quivering with rage. That "the madder Hulk gets, the stronger Hulk gets" is common knowledge. So, MODOK moves along his preplanned machinations for the mind-controlled monster.

"I sense that you could soon sack me if I dumbly dilly-dally," MODOK speaks, "So, I should send you to the ship's stern where an old friend awaits."

"Sub-Mariner?" Hulk hopes.

"No. Why would he work for me?" MODOK responds, "You're slightly slow."

Greenskin growls and heatedly ruminates. He's got it! "She-Hulk!" Cousin Bruce cries.

"S*** no!" the AIM alpha answers, "I would have two Hulks harassing me!"

"Stan Lee?" Hulk guesses.

MODOK mulls, "I do not know who that is."

Suddenly, Hulk lunges. Reflexively, MODOK launches the livid lug the length of the ship. "Aaaaah, you suck!" Hulk shouts.

"Have fun smashing St. Louis, schmuck," the big smirking s.o.b. bawls back. MODOK is quite the guy.

The buoyant behemoth bounces off the walls before his broad butt breaks glass in the aft. "Behold AIM's beastly weapon!" blurts a nearby "beekeeper", an agent in established organizational attire. Hulk hops up and howls: "Hrrrrr!" Wheeling 180, the brawler boxes at shadows but strikes—jack squat. Hulk looks befuddled. He seizes the AIM stooge and shakes him severely, suspended over the floor.

"Where is foe for Hulk to fight?" Hulk hollers, "For example, Fin Fang Foom—although he wouldn't fit this glass fixture."

"Just wait. The air ionizes," utters the yellow yutz, "You'll be sorry soon when a horror takes you out."

The Green Goliath flips the flunky inverted and brutally bobs him up and down. "Show me the horror! Show me the horror!" Hulk shouts. Bric-a-brac falls from the peon's pockets.

Angry Man flips the discombobulated back upright, "Where is monster?!"

The dazed chump points past the mettlesome monster, "There."

Hulk pivots and peers into the giant geranium's open air with (seemingly) nothing there. He guesses, "Vapor from U-Foes?"

"No." Over a big shoulder, the wretch watches scintillating specks whirl like a will o' the wisp.

"The Abomination? MODOK mention old associate," Hulk guesses again.

"In a glass enclosure?" the schlub scientist scolds, "Besides a-hole, have you seen an enormous Abomination about?"

"Empirically, no," altered Banner acknowledges.

Behind Green Genes, a huge humanoid form glows as though in neon outline. The bad guy buys the baleful beast some time to arrive. The captured crony interrogates, "Think, Hulk. What threat could be in that empty space?"

Agape, Jade Jaws looks. He studies the electric arcs illuminating the sizable shattered vacuum tube. Hulk hears them sizzle like the cogitation in his ol' cabbage. "Aaaaah, Sue Richards, the Invisible Woman," he says.

Agent 12 chortles, "My ex is now a fantastic freak, but she is far from a monster. Reed is one lucky guy."

"Gail Simone?" Hulk guesses another monster.

"Granted, she and her ilk have ruined comics in the 21st-century, but. . . . ." the grunt pauses, "Oh good, you can quit guessing now, you dumb galoot. He's here."

Hulk hurls the beekeeper far away. Fists raised, he faces his foe. Instantly, electrified tendrils wrap his wrists, and they sharply sting even through Hulk's invulnerable skin. Burning eyes glare at a fulgurant figure before them. The Living Dynamo looks right back. Two basic intellects recognize each other simultaneously. Hulk has fought Zzzax, and Zzzax Hulk. The blaring beast besets his incorporeal adversary, and pure energy simply envelops the simpleton. Zzzax surges unmitigated amperage through his entrapped opponent. But, Hulk incredibly endures, only shaken.

From the bow, MODOK psionically sends his creature commands. Zzzax responses. Unadulterated current melts steel ceiling to slag cascading through Zzzax and over Hulk. The Green Goliath swipes the searing stuff from his face and stomps the barge floor fiercely. The Mighty Mississippi is under both powerhouses, and the river may accomplish what the Mighty Avenger cannot. The aqua could short-out and defeat Zzzax if Hulk's feet but break the ship bottom.

But, the hell-bent hero's efforts are for naught. The Living Dynamo levitates toward the thunderheads above the breached barge, and he easily takes the temperamental titan with him. Zzzax lifts his hostage skyward as Speed, skimming the river's surface, and Wasp, flitting over the water, look on concerned. Then, Zzzax zooms off with the Avengers' biggest bruiser, removing him from the board. Hulk and Zzzax hurtle south toward St. Louis. Shaking a chin, Speed resolves to chase them down soon. But, first, Chemistro and his deck flunkies. . . . .

Farther north, Eve Necker ganders at a video monitor. Her sub's pilot summoned her over to see something. Specifically, the yellow-suited subordinate has spotted some sad sack dragging in distress behind the sub's rear camera. Uncannily, the drawn drowning dope continues to struggle despite surely swallowing magnums of Mississippi. Dr. Necker kneads her hands. She can accurately estimate that the hitcher is an augmented individual accompanying the Avengers. But, Necker does not know him or his capabilities. Perhaps, he will just conveniently die out there. Or, he might issue an energy blast at any moment. Or, as often occurs, the hero might dig deep and rectify his situation.

"Keep me updated," Dr. Eve orders. She turns to other concerns.

"Ay, ma'am," answers the AIM agent.

Digging deep, American Eagle expels ample plumes of dirty water from his filling lungs. Fighting the crushing current, the champion curls himself upright. He seizes the cable at his ankle. Showing astounding strength, he frenetically furls the line fettering his foot. Hand-over-hand, Eagle gathers the hawser and impossibly pulls himself forward.

Before American Eagle, Dr. Eve Necker operates in the sub. That is to say that she literally has subordinate Minion open for internal surgical work. Duffy moans and groans quietly under deep sedation. Beside Necker, a beekeeper assists the doctor's operations. Behind the two, two other AIM agents observe (apparently) unconscious Tigra strapped to a gurney. Guns at the ready, the twin drudges fret over the feline Avenger, for Tigra is in the flesh and no longer petrified. For God knows what reason, Grey Gargoyle's infamous, odious ossification has worn off.

Agent 17 scrutinizes sleeping, supine Tigra, "Now there is a bear you don't poke."

"Panthera tigris," says Agent 14, "Or, panthera sapien if you wish."

The former surveys his surroundings, "Do we have anything to dope her with like Necker's Duffy? A sedated superheroine is less scary than an active, alert, and angry one."

"Our recently petrified prisoner should again be stoned," the latter affirms. He too scans for narcotics or something similar.

"Get yourselves some morphine as well," someone speaks.

Both beekeepers startle. Conscious Tigra stares them down. She sits-up, and strong straps snap. A keen claw slices her legs' leather restraint.

Hearing Greer, Eve turns, "S***. It is a shame that the barge lacked a six-foot kennel."

The Cat curls. Seventeen and fourteen produce stun-sticks (no sidearms in an enclosed sub). Tigra handstands and cracks each flunky with a furry foot. She spins on her hands and flails them repeatedly. They fall. From the side, another AIM agent charges the liberated Avenger. But, he fails. Tigra just judo-flips him, clamps the juiced cuffs meant for her, and watches him flop as though tased. To the left, the ship's steersman enables the autopilot and takes a fighting position on his feet. Forsooth, Nelson and onlooker Necker simultaneously titter at the outclassed taekwondo enthusiast. Tigra tosses her empty gurney at him. He falls.

"Oh for f***'s sake," Necker feigns fear, "You defeated my four fellows. I should surrender." The mad scientist shows hands.

Surreptitiously, Eve flips a switch under her shoe. You see. Seconds before, she dropped a dicey device upon the floor. So now, nasty nuclear fusion begins. . . . . .

Back several miles, Speed departs secured Chemistro temporarily. In one fell swoop, the bleary streak subdues every AIM soldier on the barge's top. Tommy Shepherd gathers the gaggle of silly geese and deposits the whole gang in a pile before Curtis Carr. Then, in a blink, Speed assembles the goons' arsenal of laser guns and plasma grenades. With a "bye-bye", the puckish blur pushes the weapons along the wet deck until the expensive tech tumbles into the turbulent river.

Torrential rain washes the yellow-bellied crooks creeping for the companionway leading to cover, below deck. A crashing wave catches one and carries him away wailing in the howling tempest. He gropes direly at the slick gunnel. Speed whizzes to the rescue. But, he isn't needed. Spider-Woman surfaces from the churning, treacherous channel. Her sticky hands climb the hull, and the heroine nonchalantly chucks the crying chump back to his chucklehead chums.

"Yeah!" Speed cheers, "The amazing Spider-Woman has arrived!"

Deafening thunderclaps announce Arachne as dazzling lightning complements. The lightning emblazons eerie eyes and an arachnid emblem as dark garb stands against black sky. Her white gloves form fists flickering in the furious fulguration. Piqued, she puffs into the inundant precipitation. Pounding rain rattles the barge deck as the storm rages upon the roiled river.

Weaving and wobbling, Wasp arrives too through the raging rains. She alights and enlarges. The deluge lashes the Avengers' first lady.

Loudly, Speed greets, "Woo, the Wondrous Wasp has arrived!"

Wasp winks appreciation, but she also then shakes her head. She sadly steers Speed to his six. Tommy sees that Chemistro has escaped his steel chains. They lie rusted through and dissipating on the drenched deck.

"How in the hell did Carr manage that feat?" the Young Avenger asks aloud, "I took his damn Alchemy Gun."

"Perhaps, he had a chemical reaction up his sleeve," the experienced Avenger educates, "I saw him escape right after Zzzax distracted you and kidnapped the Hulk."

"Zzzax? Kidnapped Hulk?" Spider-Woman queries, "What happened while I was underwater? Under slightly more water than this squall at any rate."

"Zzzax the Living Dynamo launched himself from this barge's back, and he took our powerhouse with him," Jan summarizes, "And, Chemistro escaped."

"Aw f***!" Julia is very frank, "AIM just divided and conquered four Avengers and an Eagle ally while leading them into an obvious trap. I feel stupid, and I feel pissed."

"We all feel pissed," van Dyne remarks, filthy weather streaming down her face, "For all I know, Fixer is hiding in the hold down below."

Spider-Woman slicks back her long strawberry locks, "I tell you what, Wasp. Speed and you pursue Zzax and save St. Louis from certain doom. I'll stay here."

"Oh sure," Shepherd remarks sarcastically, "Twin titans shouldn't give us two too many problems. We're Tinkerbell and Twinkle Toes against those dual destroyers. "

Carpenter comments back, "If it cheers you up, I am about to attempt to take-down an entire shipload of super-baddies all by my lonesome. Let's hope that I'm an amazing Spider-Woman." The lady laughs hardily.

"Let's hope that your sortie isn't suicide," Speed pivots south, "Let's hope that American Eagle still shows-up at some point from somewhere. Let's hope that the Hulk is in a good mood when Wasp and I catch him. Let's hope that Zzzax shorts-out in the current sloppy showers. S***!"

Getting set, the keyed runner wipes the rain from his goggles.

Jan shrinks and seats herself in Speed's palm. "Good luck to us all," Wasp shrugs, "Maybe, Tigra and U.S. Agent have broken free inside the barge. Maybe, Hulk will even aid us in our upcoming epic battle with Zzzax. Who knows?"

Tommy takes off like a torpedo toward River City.

To the north, Tigra also has a fight before her. Unexpectedly, she must save a man's life. Somehow, Duffy has awakened. And, the dolorous, dissected dog adamantly attempts to sit-up—shifting his bowels forward and threatening to exenterate himself! The cringing, compassionate Cat tries firmly to keep Duffy flat. But, the cyborg forcefully thrashes about.

Beside Greer, Eve is amused. A moment ago, Necker literally had a trick up her sleeve. With hands up, she subtly activated her Minion with a stashed wrist device. Simultaneously, her toe tapped the powerful nuclear apparatus now operating on the floor. Impressive heat and glow spread across the sub's cabin.

Tigra eyes the ominous illumination. She asks, "What the hell is that raging radiation? I might be a tawny in the two-piece, but I don't need the tragic tan."

"Don't worry. It's just an experimental teleportation device," the mad scientist replies, "It should get my Minion and me out of your hair, or fur, as the case may be. Then, it might cook you and the whole craft. Who knows?"

Someday soon, Eve Necker creates the Death's Head automaton, and that terrible terminator has the ability to teleport. However, the evil genius must first build imperfect prototypes. And, one operates in this transport's enclosed quarters presently.

Punctually, the imperfect invention goes awry. With a blazing burst, the widget's furious fusion acutely intensifies. Tigra has great reflexes, so she springs free of the hot plasma overspreading the floor. She seizes some ceiling pipe by which to "hang in there, baby". Unfortunately, the unconscious AIM agents beneath her are incinerated instantly. Watching them burn, Duffy grows quite agitated as awesome energy melts his gurney toward the ground (and a possible gruesome fate). In the vicinity, Eve experiences an unpleasant irradiation that seemingly consumes her garb and then her flesh. Observer Tigra cannot exactly tell, for the shine is blinding bright. In fact, all through the vessel, the view waxes to nigh stellar.

The Cat clamps her eyes shut tight.

But, strangely, Greer hears someone pounding hard on the bottom hatch of the sub.


	10. Chap 10: Humble Pie

**Chapter 10: Humble Pie**

Jason Strongbow slams his fist hard successively on the submersible's steel hull. He would prefer not to pass-out and perish after arduously pulling himself to possible safety. He hammers the hatch, hoping it to open by others' or by his own impetus.

Suddenly, as American Eagle smites, the steel turns inexplicably pliable as if superheated, and the whole hull starts to scintillate like a celestial body. The river water steams and boils. Briefly, Eagle beholds Tigra behind the hatch's glass, and she spots some buff guy banging on the bathyscaphe.

Then, the calescent tub teleports. It takes Necker and Duffy with it. It leaves Strongbow and Nelson in the storm-tossed soup. Eagle would sigh—had he the air. The Cat screeches, underwater, in surprise and frustration. In the gritty, green flowage, Greer grabs Jason's neck nape and swims for the river's surface. One able arm and a wicked whip-kick fight the flooding channel's coursing current until Tigra breaks the bucking waves. Both Jason and Greer gasp for good oxygen as the agitated wash spins them. Gale-force winds fling flotsam from the trees along both banks, and weighty wood wallops the distressed duo in the wild waters.

"Hey! What happened to Old Man River?" American Eagle huffs, "He seems notably narrower in these parts." Old Man River is the Mississippi.

"How should I know?" Tigra hisses in her ally's ear. This evening's enveloping downpour is deafening.

From seemingly nowhere. "Hey! Do you guys need some help?!" someone shouts in the vicinity.

The surfaced superbeings spot several soaked citizens (of somewhere) on a nearby shore. Their presence and proximity are surprises. The Mississippi should be about a mile-wide around these parts. Treading water in the unforgiving flooded flow, super-detective Tigra examines her new environment. Bustling for the bank despite the fierce flow, American Eagle surveys the new surroundings.

"We're in the Illinois River!" Eagle announces to Tigra. He reads a sign on shore.

"You two are in Elsah, Illinois!" informs a Jersey County sheriff's deputy. He lobs a long rope, and Elsah's gathered people pull the line to land. Jason and Greer thank them kindly.

Tigra scratches her chinny-chin-chin, and the Cat conjectures within that Necker's craft made northward from West Alton up the Illinois River. Ever curious, the Cat wonders to what secreted AIM facility Eve ran. But, as heavy rain pelts everyone, the Avenger more immediately wonders why a considerable crowd is out in the weather.

"Say, I appreciate the assistance," Tigra shimmies herself dry (very temporarily), "But, why are you folks out in a flash flood and a terrible tempest?"

"Well, to investigate the plane crash from a moment ago," the deputy hollers. He points-out a sizable fiery object sizzling in the pattering precip over yon. Lightning illuminates and elucidates the object nicely.

Nearby, a Protestant minister pleas, "Plainly, that is not a plane though."

"No, it is a ship that fell from the sky," Tigra assesses, "I was just on that damn thing when it teleported."

"Crikey! You were on that crazy craft?" the reverend queries.

Tigra comments, "Yeah, I was overwhelmed by mad scientist Curtis 'Chemistro' Carr and his crew of corrupt curs. They kidnapped me and would have kept me caged soon in a kennel. But, my catnap concluded before the crumb-bum criminals could deliver me to their fellow dastards."

"Congrats on escaping," the constable compliments coping skills.

The crimefighter continues, "Currently, I would like to pursue the scary creatures on the loose to the south. If I am correct, MODOK, Grey Gargoyle, and Fin Fang Foom might be rampaging through St. Louis right now, causing chaos."

The sopping sleuth is actually all wet. She does not know that it is Zzzax who/what might fry the Lou to a crisp while a commandeered Hulk deconstructs the city.

The deputy's brow creases, "Currently, we can't cart you to St. Louis, by either cop car or even birch canoe. I wish that we could. However, in this crotchety cascade, all thoroughfares are crud. Condolences."

"Crap!" Tigra kicks mud.

The clergy cringes, "Say, we are good Christians around here in Elsah. We do not cotton much to curses—or immodest costumes. Please cover-up." The pastor presents the scantily-clad "sinner" with a poncho.

Greer keeps any crass comebacks to herself, and the feline flaunter flips on the tarp tunic. Close-lipped American Eagle and she creep along with the crowd toward cover. Around them, a damnable deluge cuts the pair from their peers. Across the area, a stupendous storm rages from well north of Elsah to well south of St. Louis, a city for which good Christians should pray.

In St. Louis, a smoldering woman staggers about—astounded and aghast—after teleporting wonkily. Eve Necker weaves toward the wide window before her. She sees the Gateway Arch in the near distance. And, based on view, she seems to be in one of St. Louis' many skyscrapers. The smoking redhead shucks the charred labcoat from her sore, semi-singed body, and she assesses that she suffered slight, but not serious, injury. Seared, her shirt slumps from her shoulders, and her scorched skirt slides past her sinking shabby stockings. Eve steps from her half-disintegrated clothes and stands semi-nude in just satin brassiere and shorts. The window shows the mad scientist her reflection, and she studies the soot sullying alabaster skin and the tactile sting brought about by her heedless machinations.

And, the distinguished Dr. Necker realizes that she is naked. Throughout, the sad sort samples humble pie from her tongue to her gut to her tightening posterior.

But, a foolish ass does not ultimately give a fig. Suppressing shame, Eve simply sets to fetch a bathrobe (like fig leaves) and make big plans. In her mind, the sociopath will be back to sadistic, sick experimentation with cybernetics in no time, and she will make certain superheroes suffer severely. So the egregious narcissist tells herself.

The schemer scans her new setting, and she smiles. To her surprise and satisfaction, Eve recognizes AIM's luxury accommodations. She is somehow in the penthouse atop the Rowen. Smugly, the simpering Scottish scoundrel steps a jig in celebration.

But, just then, the wide window sparkles sublimely with St. Elmo's fire. For a second, Eve ogles the incoming, accumulating energy. A spectacular blue burns fleetingly on the glass between tenebrous thunderclouds and Necker's person before. . . . . Like a bolt from above, Zzzax arrives—blasting vitreous debris inward. The cyclonic concussion sends the psychotic lass sprawling. Eve's shape smacks the suite wall. Two rods away, stupendous sentient static releases a stentorian squall that shakes the chamber and chills the spine. The amped abomination stretches his unnatural arm, snatches Eve's ankle, skids her across the carpet (creating some static), sets a huge hand on her head, stents her cerebrum (through her skull), and obscenely sucks out her psyche! Zzzax can steal psyches by infiltrating brain synapses.

Elsewhere, several miles north, Spider-Woman senses Chemistro in the vicinity. He stirs her psychic awareness. Amidst raucous rain, Arachne quietly approaches her quarry. She soft-steps to one side of a high shipping container. On the opposite side, Chemistro clutches a radioactive shiv, enriched with uranium. It should bite Spider-Woman well. He waits. She stops and scans around. As the two pause, torrential rains wash the boat's topside and them. On wailing winds, curtains of rain cuff Spider-Woman and Chemistro successively.

Suddenly, webbing wraps Carr's head, and Carpenter simply jerks his cranium forcefully against the steel container. Unconscious , the big brain falls. Spider-Woman walks around Chemistro's concealment. She is unsure how to secure the conked criminal. Everything has some chemistry to it. She will just have to quickly conquer the rest of AIM on this crate before Chemistro rouses.

Spider-Woman bounds down the stairs to the belly of the barge. With one kick, she breaks an "impervious" hatch entirely from its hinges. Her fists and feet fleetly flop three flunkies near the breach. A fourth and fifth fire laser guns from down the hallway. Hopping upward, Spider-Woman scuttles along the ceiling until reaching the two troublemakers. She drops; they drop. Julia dashes down the passage, drawing more fire. She easily dodges through it and distracts herself not with small fry. Behind her, she hears an unfortunate ricochet do-in some dunce.

Turning consecutive corners, Spider-Woman canvasses for endangered Avengers. Tigra and U.S. Agent must be here somewhere. Sighing, the heroine wishes that AWOL American Eagle could come to aid the search. Julia wonders where the hell he went. Slouch!

Three AIM agents ambush Spider-Woman. Excitedly, they almost successively activate a sonic device and deploy a strong net. But, Spider-Woman tosses them around and continues touring the ship.

Out of nowhere, Grey Gargoyle attacks. One moment, Spider-Woman slinks along a wall toward a left turn. The next second, a stony right fist punches through paneling. The punch floors the prowler.

"Hah! I hit you, b****!" Grey Gargoyle rips open the remaining wall. He enters the close quarters and clobbers his foe through the wooden wall behind her.

"Hah! I hit back," Spider-Woman karate-chops living concrete. It chips a bit. The champion cracks the calcified cad another one.

In the altercation's area, another petrified party also cracks minutely. A couple rooms over, U.S. Agent stands petrified, literally, not figuratively. But, atom by atom, the resolute warrior fights the effects of Grey Gargoyle's touch. Indomitable will permeates John Walker's body even in this inert state. And, Captain America will not be conquered. Thus, he determinedly thaws the fibers of his being until his fingers tremulously twitch. Walker will soon leave the lab in which Grey Gargoyle left him.

A length away, the French fiend flings things in the boat's galley. Pots, pans, plates, ladles, dish towels, and everything become solid stone projectiles from his hands. Spider-Woman adeptly dances and dodges. At her boots, the ship's steward sneaks-up on her hamstrings with an AIM-enhanced electric knife. He springs. But, a careening crock cracks his poor cranium like a crimson-filled coconut. He croaks right there.

Spinning, Spider-Woman capture's Grey Gargoyle with a web-line. Yanking, she catapults the jerk across the quarters. He crashes through a glass cooler door.

"Ha! Another bad guy in the cooler!" the crimefighter crows.

"What?" the supervillain rises, "That is terrible banter."

"I know, but it distracted you," Julia slams a steel cabinet door into Paul's mug. It imprints over his face. She slugs the door's dent out—sending scamp onto his keister.

Spider-Woman tosses some contents from the cupboard, "Here, Gargoyle, have some cream-filled sponge cakes. You'll get a big delight in every bite."

"I am unsure that they would suit me," the baddie bats the package aside, "I don't think that those things ever fossilize."

Grey Gargoyle's cracks his knuckles like crushed gravel. He gets up. Spider-Woman and he grapple into the adjacent mess hall.

Elsewhere, Wasp watches the rampaging Hulk wreck St. Louis. Like a rogue elephant, the behemoth barrels down I-44 overturning big rigs, bashing cars aside, bucking the pavement, and blaring with rage. Jan ascertains that psychic Zzzax has somehow activated Bruce's worst animus. The beryl, feral brute beats his chest. He bowls over some more traffic. He bounds for Busch Stadium.

Surveying the traffic corridor, Wasp cringes at the chaos and casualties caused in such short time. She considers helping the affected civilians. By landing and enlarging, a Mighty Avenger could appear in their midst and offer direction and a pep talk. But, the Wondrous Wasp needs to sample some humble pie on this one. Emergency sirens already approach in the wailing wind and inundated streets, and those plain folks (and their practical measures) will likely better any little Avenger's (rhetorical) efforts.

Wasp beelines for Busch Stadium. As the sky provides a cold shower, Jan Van Dyne tastes some humble pie again. The thought occurs. No Avenger easily bests the Incredible Hulk, not even Hercules or Thor. Entire teams of Earth's Mightiest have met defeat. Wee Wasp has little chance.

For now, Wasp will have to wing it. She will have to coax and counsel the confused colossus and try killing his rage with kindness. However, Jan just hopes that her summoned back-up arrives soon. Past counselors have been pulverized when attempting gentle pacification of the powerhouse. Daredevil, Dr. Strange, Doc Samson, Black Widow, and Betty Ross (a.k.a. Red She-Hulk) all have the x-rays and used plaster of Paris to show. Wasp shudders.

"Sometimes, a girl needs some help," she admits internally, much as she feels abashed.

Elsewhere nearby, Speed chases living lightning across the St. Louis sky. Shepherd can still spot Zzzax despite the camouflage that active cumulonimbus clouds provide. The creature cruises and coruscates along the frenetic fulguration above. Beneath him, Tommy travels like lightning as well. The two meet at the Missouri Botanical Garden, five miles west of the Rowen.

In a flash, Zzzax strikes Speed in the street. A bolt simply explodes Shaw Boulevard beneath Speed instantly. The surprised sprinter sheers sharp into Shaw's Garden, as the locals call the MBG. He hits a tree and tumbles back. From above, Zzzax zaps Speed again before any evasion. The Living Dynamo descends from his Jovian zenith. Speed zigs away when he should have zagged, and Zzzax seizes the zoomer from the zinnias. Zealously, the awful entity issues sizzling current through the spastic champion. The pie-eyed hero feels somewhat humbled.

"You zit on my arse. I should f****** fry ya!" Zzzax speaks. Shockingly, he sounds exactly like a Scottish woman.

The Whizzer wonders whether Zzzax somehow has acquired Dr. Necker's psyche and if the electric eidolon intends to steal his. But, the speedster is not waiting to find out. He sets his shaky soles.

"I'll z-z-zombify you like I did the ditz-z-z Necker!" Zzzax says in his natural voice—confirming suspicions.

Getting in a zone, the determined dasher zips southeast—Zzzax attached all of the way. Tommy has noticed that the heavy rain disrupts the Living Dynamo slightly, so Speed makes for one of the garden's large open pools. Beside the geodesic dome, he finds one. He zeroes in. Tommy dives—dragging the attached titan with him. "Shorting out", the Living Dynamo splendidly disperses, with a Wilhelm scream, throughout the pool while Speed propels himself free. For a second, Zzzax is zilch.

Experiencing arrhythmia, staggering Speed nosedives into sodden mud and xiphoid brambles. He draws ragged breath and seeks to steady his pulse. But, Zzzax reforms immediately. Amazed, resolute Speed makes like the Zephyr, and Zzzax pursues him swiftly east (toward the big river).

On the Mississippi, at West Alton, Spider-Woman casts Grey Gargoyle through the wall of the ship's conference room. The metamorphic man crashes on the big table collapsing it. Automatically, Paul Pierre procures two wooden shards and turns them to stone swords. Standing, he swings the duel stalagmites swiftly and circularly. Like a chevalier, Grey Gargoyle thrusts one at Spider-Woman in the hallway. She breaks the blade with a backhand block. He stabs the other at her. Julia judo-throws the jabber through a closet door—into the "john". The heavy hurls headlong into the boat's head. Like a deuce, the thug drops into the dip. Gargoyle gurgles in disgust and tastes the "humble pie". Apoplectic, P.P. punches into the porcelain. Pivoting, Gargoyle pelts Arachne with four allantoid stones.

Spider-Woman blinks baffled, "Did you just hit me with. . . . ?"

The incensed villain interrupts, "Scat! I need to take a shower." A stone sword slashes overhead hall pipes that spray both parties. From the head, Duval tosses Carpenter a bar of soap.

Spider-Woman blinks bugged, "Do you expect. . . . ?"

"No, I am going to my stateroom for a proper douche," the civilized scumbag stomps away.

Spider-Woman spits disgusted. She needs to find and rescue Walker anyway. Swiveling, white boots beat a path through a barge of brigands, and Carpenter beats brigands into the barge as necessary. She surveys her setting via psionics and plain sight. Soon, she sees a sign affixed between sick bay and the brig. It reads "Laboratory".

Elsewhere, in Edinburgh, Scotland, Duffy awakes in a cutting-edge hospital. Med-bots take outstanding care of him. Even better than Eve Necker. As midnight arrives, he wonders what still occurs back in Missouri where the time is 17:00.

"I wish someone would show me," Duffy says to himself.

Back in Missouri, Spider-Woman swats several AIM scientists aside with a sizable table. They drop onto a pile of previously "processed" palookas.

Arachne addresses U.S. Agent before her, "Johnny, can you hear me?"

"J'lia, cin u n'rst'nd m'?" locked lips reply.

"I can understand you, sweetie," Spider-Woman smiles, "But maybe, you should study ventriloquism for your next super-skill."

"H'h', vr f'in f'nny," Agent strains his stiff visage to a scowl.

Concerned Carpenter considers her readily recuperating comrade. His colors—pink skin, black uniform with red, white, and blue—return. More importantly, his range of motion does as well. Grey Gargoyle's effect wanes upon the robust warrior, and Spider-Woman is glad to have her ally back. She may need his might soon.

Summoning all might, stiff U.S. Agent suddenly points sidelong. "Bad guy," he clearly calls.

Bounding in, Grey Gargoyle ambushes with a flying elbow. Spider-Woman counters with a forceful throw. Beakers, bottles, and sundry glass shatter beneath a rocky rump. U.S. Agent salutes his pal and peer. Charging, Gargoyle besets the Spideress again. She sidesteps and swipes his legs. Surprisingly, the big galoot dexterously tucks and rolls right back to his feet. Sans hesitation, seven hundred pounds spins a flying roundhouse upon his foe. She barely blocks it—nigh breaking her ulna.

"Bon," Gargoyle gives a thumbs-up, "Those savate lessons with Batroc have paid-off."

Sans hesitation, Spider-Woman hops and snapkicks her heel into the oaf's face. Baddie backpedals, bell rung. Braking, he balances and recoups. Grey Gargoyle puts up his dukes, cobwebs half-cleared. Spider-Woman does the same. Duval boxes and bolo-blows the air. Carpenter dances like a butterfly and circles. Glare set, Gargoyle follows Arachne's winding path—into her web.

Without warning, U.S. Agent wraps extreme extremities around Grey Gargoyle's head and halse (i.e. his neck). Agent's arms tighten and twist as though he might snap Gargoyle's spine (if he has one). The rocky rogue reaches rearward, but John's partner grabs Paul's wrists before he can petrify anyone. The super-soldier sets his feet firmly and superbly strains, steering nut sideways.

Arachne observes. She asks, "John, what are you doing? Are you trying to somehow choke him out?"

"Nah"

Suddenly, U.S. Agent snaps Grey Gargoyle's head clean off! The odd orb sails starboard, strikes a centrifuge, spins obscenely over the floor, and settles at Walker's feet. The truncated body stands stiff as a statue, behaving like non-living sculpture. The Captain crassly shoves it over.

"Damn, John," Spider-Woman is a wee shocked.

"Don't judge," U.S. Agent states, "We have both offed adversaries when necessary."

"Well, mauling me was sooo not necessary," says the "deceased" sucker on the stratum.

Jarred Julia stares disturbed at the unexpected odious animation. She looks the head in the eye. It winks. Its accompanying section spookily resets to its knees. The dumb, sightless thing's digits feel for Duval's detached dome. The doddering segment drags its dogs forward—away from its crown.

"Oh s***! Over here! Over here!" Gargoyle curses and calls.

The Captain kicks the chatty chunk farther from its freakish seeker. Johnny chortles, "Naturally, such an unnatural feller can operate without an onion. I'll be."

"I'll be pursuing the actual head of this AIM operation," Spider-Woman answers, put off, "MODOK graciously invited the Avengers into a trap to rescue you. We have done so. I should go find and thank him—with my fists."

"Hold up," the hero holds-up a hand, "I need to be debriefed."

"Fine," the heroine summarizes, "You have been frozen for a few hours; MODOK telepathically taunted the Avengers to come get Tigra and you; some guy named American Eagle joined us in journeying here to West Alton, Missouri; Chemistro, Grey Gargoyle, and a lot of AIM agents are down already; Eve Necker and her Minion's status is unknown; please do not behead Necker when you see her; Hulk has his powers back, but someone zapped his psyche, so he and Zzzax, the Living Dynamo are back in St. Louis, probably rampaging; Wasp and Speed pursued them; American Eagle has apparently flown elsewhere, for he isn't to be seen anywhere."

U.S. Agent absorbs all of this information. He answers, "Fine, let me fetch my shield. It should be around this lab someplace."

Spider-Woman scoots out the exit, "I am ambushing MODOK immediately before he ambushes us."

"You are going to ambush a telepath?" her colleague questions her strategy. Often, ESP can espy approaching assailants.

Spider-Woman hastens down the hallway, headstrong. Halfway down the corridor, Carpenter collapses crippled. From afar, MODOK has cut her motor functions. Concentrating greatly, monstrous mentalist commands the costumed crusader's carcass to comply with his quirks. Spider-Woman is to keep quiet and not call comrade U.S. Agent. She is to keep still and not coordinate her body's quarters. She is to keep her mind insensible and not psychically counter this incorporeal incursion.

However, Julia Carpenter is one incredibly tough cookie, so Spider-Woman combats MODOK's machinations all of the way. She wills herself upright and ambulatory. Clumsily, she clops forward on her avenging course.

But, an awful mental bolt crumbles Julia's fortitude and crushes her volition. Her visage crinkles. Her extremities even contort and curl. Then, telekinesis seizes her. It carries her crooked form to the bow. Her conductor releases his psychic cinch there. Scumbag AIM staff surround the duo.

Distressed MODOK coughs and wheezes, "Criminy, you are capable of combatting psychic assailment. I'm going to need a complete kilo of f****** coke just to bring me back on-line."

"I am not keen on cocaine," Spider-Woman cradles her searing skull, "But, I CAN get crazy with any super-criminal who coordinates mass chaos."

MODOK clicks a "cow" tongue, "Actually, AIM and the CSA were simply going to conduct clandestine commerce until U.S. Agent and the gang brought the kooky occurrences to St. Louis. You Avengers brought mass chaos to Missouri. Show me otherwise. So, you stand corrected, Little Miss Can't Be Wrong."

"Shut-up, you're spin-doctoring," Spider-Woman rejoins, "And, I should know because I am about to do some spinning and doctoring of my own."

MODOK sighs, "Truly, your corny yuks complement the wascally Web-Slinger who you counterfeit. But, you cannot hope to copy his capability."

"Actually, today, I shall exceed it," the Woman raises wrists.

From spread fingers, silvery strands shoot over MODOK's ugly mug. Silky cilia seep between the miscreation's skin and his Doomsday Chair, the steely seat encasing the organism. They cincture so many Chair components like strong strings. Then, Spider-Woman savagely tugs the fixed fibers free, tearing Tarleton's tech. Circuits pop. Oily conduits part. Live cables unplug. Parts plump and explode. Motherboards fry. Sparks fly. Flames project prominently and peel both cheeks. Internal alarms peal.

Within the withering wear, smoking MODOK screams, "Oh no, I'm melting! I'm melting! What a world! What a world!" He gives the finger.

With trembling hand, the baking ham pulls a chair lever. Automatically, extinguisher pumps about his person. No unkind culprit cooks the Scientist Supreme for long; AIM engineers have anticipated such attempted agonizing assassination. Ashy, fuming MODOK falls askance. The Avenger advances (alertly) on her immobile enemy.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, U.S. Agent searches for his shield, and Grey Gargoyle searches for his head. Fruitfully, Paul Pierre's palm finds the fancied familiar features. He fumbles them a bit, fixes them atop his torso, and fidgets for best fit. His face shows slight fear, but the mangled mad scientist follows through on his theory. The Gargoyle has been in fragments before. From those times, he knows that his fantastic transformation has a failsafe. It should work. Wary, Grey Gargoyle flops his hand to his chest, and dull epidermis flushes pink. The flux flows up his body. At his neck, flesh fortuitously fuses with flesh and fixes his grievous disfigurement. Dr. Paul Duval feels great relief.

The next moment, someone savagely spins the scoundrel around. "Let's test your healed neck," utters U.S. Agent.

Gargoyle frowns. Walker decks Duval and drags him to medical restraints on an exam table in the lab. They should keep the subject from touching himself and getting hard again. The hero hurries. U.S. Agent has assistance to offer Spider-Woman in the bow.

In the freighter's front, MODOK telekinetically flings Arachne to the ceiling. Playing possum, the duplicitous pig surprised her. Her psychic senses did not even warn her, serendipitously stifled as they were. Sneering, MODOK squishes Spider-Woman against the ship's strake plates. Amused AIM agents snicker at the pancaked paladin. Levitating himself upright, the evil organism sinks his acquisition about a yard. Straining, he attempts slamming the superheroine through the solid steel ceiling several times—unsuccessfully.

Slam. "Crrrap."

Slam! "S***!"

Slam! "Mulligan."

SLAM! "M*********!"

"Screw it!" MODOK declares, "The Doomsday Chair expedites all my needs anyway."

A secret seatslot slides open. A ruinous missile rockets fifteen feet to the roof. The blast blows the hull to the thunderous heavens. Through a hole, it sucks stunned Spider-Woman into the storming stygian sky. Her slack form somersaults several times before belly-flopping back below the silty, astir Mississippi River. Blub, blub goes the strawberry blonde beneath the barge.

But, Spider-Woman does not limply bob in the current for long. . . . .

Within the vessel, MODOK has big eyes and a bemused expression. All-around, burst beekeepers stick squashed and splattered like insects. Blood-stained suits slide and slop from the surroundings "Oh right, the concussive force," MODOK assesses, "I would slap my forehead if I could."

"Allow me."

Suddenly, a slung shield splits MODOK's nose, and sanguine stuff squirts forth. The weapon bounces back to U.S. Agent. "Okay, I broke your nose instead of bruising your brow," Cap comments, "But, give me a minute."

"Oh, are we fighting?" the head heavy hawks hideous hemoglobin, "What a waste of time. You should spend your next minute saving Spider-Woman from—the bull sharks that I have psychically summoned!"

"Do they have 'lasers', Dr. Evil?" the hero harasses with his fingers, "Don't bulls*** about your bevy of sharks. There ain't but maybe one bull shark in the entire Mississippi at any one time."

"I totally know that. I am the Scientist Supreme," MODOK snaps back.

Outside the keel, a lone killer fish flits past suspended Spider-Woman and ignores her. And, she ignores it. The shark sics a school of crappies. Carpenter crossly adheres her gloves to the keel and crawls peeved toward the prow, intent upon punishing MODOK severely.

Inside the prow, MODOK proposes "You should stop Zzzax and Hulk in St. Louis instead of engaging me. I politely provided you Avengers crises elsewhere than here. You will kindly allow me to escape."

"You aren't escaping anything, fool," U.S. Agent flings his shield forcefully.

With a thought, MODOK deflects the dangerous disk. But, the device was a decoy anyway. U.S. Agent dashes in. He punches MODOK to port. He slugs him to starboard. Walker deliberately dents the Doomsday Chair and then does some real damage. Great grip gouging armor, the protector props-up the punch-drunk reprobate. From way downtown, Agent pops MODOK in the mug. Furiously, the fighter pummels the fink's prodigious face pulpy pronto. Then, Agent promptly upends the thousand-pounder and puts him on his shell. With the other, Walker rips the rocket unit from Tarleton's posterior. The pathetic freak cannot fly away.

"I told you. You ain't escaping nothing," U.S. Agent restates.

Plastered, pug-ugly MODOK pants—"heh, heh, heh"—and points at the rain pouring through the perforated hull.

"What? You want some aqua, a******?" Agent grabs an armored leg. Pitilessly, he pitches his battered opponent beneath the pelting precipitation. Openly laughing, MODOK lies in the downpour. His shaky finger points skyward, and his trembling lips titter.

Walker approaches. He probes, "What's so damn funny?"

"Do you remember when you fought the Elements of Doom in St. Louis?" MODOK inquires back (see _Avengers _v.3 #56).

"Yeah, the Avengers and I totally overcame the Elements that day," U.S. Agent amusingly indicates the drenching deluge, "Captain America did alright too."

Silently, Spider-Woman descends, on a line, beside her buddy. She stares-down MODOK something fierce.

"AIM knows all about the battle. We monitored it," the wrecked wretch rasps, "Do you remember what Wonder Man warned you that day about mixing plentiful water with purest Sodium?"

John's jaw goes slightly ajar. He thinks that he knows where all is headed. . . . . Julia jostles his arm to go. She has already figured the fateful formula.

"Well," the cracked kook continues, "Chemistro synthesized three tons of pure sodium that is evenly distributed in shipping containers across the barge. And, this is a button on my Doomsday Chair. . . . ."

In bad shape, aiding each other, Carr and Duval abruptly appear. Chemist Duval conveys shock. Chemist Carr is consternated that his grand poobah goes with the suicide plan like a poopyhead. Psycho Tarleton presses the button. Five big containers break wide open.

Spider-Woman swings U.S. Agent over her shoulder. She desperately shoots a web for anywhere away from. . . . .

KAA-BOOOOOM!


	11. Chap 11: Almost Makes You Cry

**Chapter 11: Almost Makes You Cry**

A cacophony temporarily consumes Julia Carpenter.

An instant ago, crashing rains contacted fickle cargo upon AIM's barge base. Below decks, mad MODOK condemned two Avengers and his AIM crew to certain destruction. Desperate Spider-Woman shot a strand through the ship's exploded ceiling, and the webbing grabbed the gunnel outside. Julia had already snagged friend John Walker. The line acted like a bungee cord—catapulting the couple—when the craft went kablooey.

The walloping concussion was so wicked that it rapped U.S. Agent from Arachne's wrapped arm. The explosion knocked her high into the thunderous sky. Cumulonimbus clouds cast coruscating lightning current into the unbridled chemical combustion below. The duo deafening dins clashed and complemented creating an incomparable auditory chaos countrywide.

Dazed, dizzy Carpenter dropped back down. She careened directly toward the calamitous conflagration on the Mississippi's caliginous expanse. Thunder crackled and clapped all around her.

Suddenly, the blazing barge exploded a second time. The air quivered. Carbon steel sprayed in a dicey quarter-kilometer cone. Carpenter conjectured correctly that Chemistro and AIM crew had curious contraband cached within the boat. Ever cool-headed, the Avenger curved this way and that way to avoid being cut. She circumvented the shrapnel.

Cacophonous noise conquers all quarters. Keeping her wits, Spider-Woman spins a parachute that catches the whipping westerly winds carrying all eastward. She wends a course for a well-lit locale on the Mississippi's Illinois bank. Crashing waves conduct her to the clanging cables lining a broad concrete dock. Calescent lightning illuminates concerned, curious soldiers investigating the unnatural explosions on the river. The army men can tell that those blasts ain't thunder. Each has an ear for it.

Arachne alights ashore amidst an Army Corps of Engineers outpost at Alton, Illinois. She immediately explains, "Hi, you had AIM terrorists operating just outside your front door, believe it or not. That blown barge over there was their mobile base."

"No s***?" says a surprised sergeant. Black smoke billows past the bewildered man.

Beside him, a cognizant corporal inquires, "Do we have any survivors to save?" The tempest tosses tall waves inland like tide.

A perceptive private purposefully points, "What about that singed skinny-dipper over there? Is that bare-assed guy an unfortunate AIM agent?"

Spider-Woman and the soldiers survey the turbulent Mississippi. They anon espy Chemistro, sans costume. The explosion must have obliterated his apparel. Upon the bucking waves, buff Carr floats face-down and flaccid. Carpenter considers whether Chemistro might be dead or not, for she might or might not risk rescuing a carcass. The roaring rain patters upon the poor duck.

Suddenly, U.S. Agent surfaces beside the bad guy. Walker robustly waves to the bank. Then, he checks unconscious Carr for breath. With one arm treading rough water, the Captain squeezes the rogue with the other. Dirty drink disgorges from Chemistro's mouth, and he weakly gasps for air. Immediately, vigorous, strong U.S. Agent spurts the two for shore. Spider-Woman tosses him a line taken from the aiding engineers. Hand-over-hand, she hauls the hero and wretch to safety.

"Thanks, sweetie," Walker whacks Carpenter on the back. He salutes the soldiers and smiles satisfied after showing all present "how it's done".

"Sorry for dropping you," Spider-Woman says, "Did you see anyone else down there in the depths? For example, did you meet Grey Gargoyle or MODOK, dead or alive? Preferably perished."

U.S. Agent shakes his head, "Nah, a person can't see s*** in the Mississippi during a storm. They were nowhere in sight."

Spider-Woman shrugs, "May they both have sunk to the muddy bottom."

U.S. Agent acknowledges, "MODOK sits in a steel seat, and Gargoyle is sometimes stone. So, you might have gotten your wish."

Just then, bloody beekeeper bits and bloating bodies race past on the rolling river. The sight bugs Spider-Woman a bit. MODOK slaughtered his staff.

On shore, station security carries semi-conscious Carr toward the brig, and tornado sirens begin to keen across the Alton area. With recent weather, the tornadic activity is not a surprise. Hustling, army personnel seek shelter, and they solicit the Avengers to do the same. Battle-sore, Spider-Woman slinks after everyone toward the base's buildings. To show-off for the soldiers, super-soldier John sprints swiftly past them. After Johnny, Julia limps to a cement tunnel. There, an officer offers her a towel and a cola. After drying a few dabs, the heroine says "Hey, captain" and tosses the towel to her attendant. She chugs the soda. She considers the mean green gone to St. Louis.

She inquires of the staff around her, "Do you know where the other Avengers are?"

"Actually, I do. One is on the phone," comes a surprise answer, "A Ms. Tigra in Elsah would like to talk to you."

Arachne acts nonchalant, "Well, I am not totally surprised. I do sometimes get catcalls." Within, Julia compliments herself on navigating the unexpected well. She takes the receiver.

From Elsah, Tigra updates Julia about events on her harried end. From Alton, Spider-Woman informs Greer of the activities of U.S. Agent and Julia. And then, curious Carpenter inquires how Nelson knew where to call currently. How did Elsah know to call Alton? The clever Cat simply claims that she is a strong sleuth and conjectured where her colleagues would end up after invading AIM's barge. Also (Tigra admits), the Elsah sheriff and the head Alton sergeant have communicated during the storm, so each "common man" connected the Mighty Avengers with one another.

Arachne chuckles, "God bless everyday heroes."

"Amen," avers Tigra, "Now, how do we help those everyday heroes? Local news reports battling super-beings in St. Louis. How do we get from western Illinois to there?"

"Do we still have a Quinjet parked in West Alton's Confluence Point Park?" American Eagle asks over Tigra's shoulder.

"We do," Julia affirms.

"Could it pick-up two compadres in Elsah, Illinois?" a werewoman wonders.

"It could" Carpenter confirms, "Then, it could soar south through a gale to another upheaval." Aptly, emergency sirens sound in the background.

Substantial miles south, Speed is face-down in a gushing gutter flowing toward a large storm sewer grate. The great grate even has an adequate aperture to dump a slim speedster into the subterranean spillway under a street. Cascading current carries an unconscious kid toward the chasm beneath Cherokee Street. Zzzax zapped Speed but good.

The green-garbed lad gurgles as he goes lugubriously to his fate. But, from nowhere, some strong green-haired guy grabs his girdle and hoists the helpless hero from the gutter. A friendly glove kindly wipes the grit from Tommy's goggles and the goo from his shirt. Doc Samson shakes Shepherd slightly to perhaps stir him. However, the Young Avenger remains insensible. The psychiatrist sets Tommy gently on the drenched sidewalk.

From the side, an old Avenger states, "Well, Wanda's son looks a bit beaten and bedraggled." Giant-Man, at six-foot size, gazes concerned.

Physician Samson assesses patient Shepherd. He checks the pulse. He pinches for pain reaction. He borrows a pen light from Pym and examines the teen's pupils.

"What do you see?" Pym asks. The rain pours. Reaching into his sidebag, Giant-Man produces an umbrella and greatly expands it—a little late. All three supermen are already sopping.

"I suppose that Zzzax got him. Wasp warned that the Living Dynamo was here," Samson scratches his chin, "The creature did his mind-zap which is a mind-sap that leaves victims catatonic. I have seen Zzzax's work before back in New Mexico. Aptly, the amped adversary abducted 'Thunderbolt' Ross' mind [see _Incredible Hulk _#326]."

"And, where do you suppose Zzzax is now?" Hank hawks into the streaming street slop.

To the east, massive fulguration illuminates the early evening like the dawn.

"I suppose there," Leonard points.

Forthwith, a big explosion occurs. Fire jets sky-high, and ordnance booms over the vicinity. Ship shrapnel shoots throughout the Marine Villa neighborhood shattering windows, severing powerlines, and spearing cement facades. An iron boat aft arcs through the ebony sky and approaches the heroic trio. Samson one-hand grabs the assailing quarter-ton and examines the escutcheon.

"It is from a Coast Guard cutter," the Doc states.

"Yeah, they and the Army Corps of Engineers operate right over there," Pym's pointer indicates the east, "We should assist them."

Audible automatic weapons fire impotently upon the elemental. An enormous, iridescent Zzzax streaks into the skyline and unleashes devilish direct current upon the unfortunates below. He bellows with unmitigated ire, and his ululation echoes throughout the entire area.

Stoically, Leonard acknowledges, "Incorporeal opponents are always tough, but we heroes had better engage ASAP."

Suddenly, emergency air sirens accompany Zzzax's wild shrieks, and the wind howls a bit more than it already has been. Hank looks at his wrist computer and frowns. "Incorporeal opponents are tough indeed. We actually have a damn cyclone headed our way, headed for St. Louis. We might get to wrestle the wind itself as well as Zzzax."

"When it rains it pours," Doc Samson sighs.

Suddenly, ambulance sirens accompany the air sirens and Zzzax's vociferations. A rescue wagon wheels through the waters covering Cherokee Street. EMS personnel pull-up. As lightning and Zzzax zaps flash, the driver divulges, "Dispatch said that there was a super battle going down hereabout. We'll take care of your buddy. Howabout you take care of the bad guy." A latex link points to the dazzling daemon.

"Will do. Thank you," Giant-Man grows fleetly twenty-seven feet. He strides boldly toward brouhaha.

Doc Samson wrings his wet locks. "I am a physician," he informs the pair of paramedics, "Keep Speed, your charge, stable. He has received a cerebral shock that I can help repair later after opposing yon angry titan."

"TTFN then," a terse tech tips her hat.

On the horizon, thirty-three-foot Pym hurdles elevated I-55 and heads for towering Zzzax. Behind Hank, Leonard leaps seven stories high and hurtles past his partner. Humbly, the soaring strongman shakes his head. Here, he is in St. Louis to head-shrink Hulk as he routinely does, but he is helping Giant-Man charge the Living Dynamo instead. With purpose, the intrepid powerhouse lands at Zzzax's feet and immediately groundstrikes the earth—unbalancing the creature onto his ass.

Elsewhere, over at Busch Stadium, Wasp fights Hulk alone. The little lady hovers in the inclement air over the Hulk's head. Over her, soaking rain falls. It undoes the pixie's dainty 'do and inundates her cute costume. Jan shivers in the storm, but it is not the relentless rain that rattles her nerves and bones most. Rather, Wasp beholds the belligerent behemoth before her, and she feels chills even after all of these years around Banner. Hulk makes Wasp feel small. The veteran heroine can encounter gods and monsters all she wants over the decades. None of them quite equal the personification of a gamma bomb before you stomping across the shaking earth, roaring above the thunder, waving enormous limbs as though all were his domain.

Wasp apprehensively descends to her unstable old acquaintance. She prays that she does not startle him. At his shoulder, her wings bombinate quietly near his ear. Wasp whispers "Hulk" gently. The giant jerks his gaze around to glare. His surly snort shoots her back.

The Green Goliath growls, "Does puny girl come to attack Hulk? I could gulp her down for grub!"

Jan van Dyne grows to her full size and sucks in some air. Wasp wants to assuage Hulk's rage. And, she might achieve that by suppressing her powers to make her look vulnerable and non-threatening. She does not appear to be a Wondrous Wasp but rather a regular gal and familiar pal.

Plus, 5' 4" Jan figures that her larger self is less likely to fit Hulk's gullet than her smaller self. She would prefer avoid a gruesome, ghoulish fate greasing Greenskin's guts.

"I admit to being outmatched. You have the power, big guy," the proud woman slicks back her sopping hair. Within, Wasp hopes that the right words give her the power to calm her colossal colleague and quickly have him under her control.

Hulk grunts and grins ogling Jan. He studies her like a great, skittish beast assessing her trustworthiness. The Incredible one inquires, "What does girl want?"

"To be friends like we always are," the Winsome one replies. Van Dyne winks and smirks slyly.

The brute unceremoniously clamps a huge hand over the schmoozer's shoulder and briskly brings her to his stern stare.

"Wasp," the giant pronounces.

"Yes," the dangling dame hangs in there. She anticipates possible amity.

"Bah!" Hulk blurts brusquely, "You hurt Hulk as often as you buddy with him,"

The Green Goliath forcefully flings the wee woman like a Frisbee through the falling rain. Wasp cannot correct her flight. Fifty-five feet away, she flops and flips through the right field mud. At the foul line, she stops, and she raises her face from the filth. Both furious and fearful, van Dyne ejects fetid foam from her mouth into a broad frothy puddle beneath the flickering lightning light.

Far away, Hulk roars echoically throughout Busch Stadium. The monster fixes a maleficent (male) gaze upon the madam in the mud. Bugged, Jan worries that Bruce might bounce to her and then literally take her to first base—or wherever. She can't have that. She swiftly shrinks to superpowered size.

But, the menacing brute surprises her with a different gift instead. He throws the entire pitcher's mound. Enveloping the four-inch idol, it buries Wasp beneath about three hundredweight of dirt. Damnably, she doesn't deftly dodge the hefty dollop.

Fists raised, Hulk squalls to the tempest overhead. In savage frenzy, he kicks about the field sending soil explosively upward. In catharsis, he sends saturated, soggy turf seventy-feet into the surrounding stands. In vicious victory, he bellows at the burial mound in right field. There, regrown Jan raises a mass of muck with all of her strength. The rampaging wight roars again in terrible fury. In a tantrum, Hulk tromps forth to maybe rip Wasp in twain.

But, a roar and a rumble answer Hulk from overhead. And, they do not originate from the passing storm. Rather, a Quinjet arrives above Busch Stadium. Hulk balks a tick before bounding to the bullpen where a golf cart is parked. Childishly, he chucks that aluminum and steel all the way up to the Avengers' craft. It impotently impacts Tony Stark's well-designed plane without hurting anything. Teeth grinding, legs bent, Hulk prepares to powerfully propel himself at the hovering, harassing hazard hassling him.

But, before Hulk does, a hatch opens, and a shrieking American Eagle comes flying intent on attack.

Elsewhere nearby, Doc Samson hurls heaps of sand over huge Zzzax. In each hand, Samson holds a truck hopper of dirt that he hopes might stifle the Living Dynamo. Dirt is dielectric. It insulates. A dielectric could kill Zzzax's current rampage.

But, the tossed non-conductor only totally ticks-off the towering terror. In a flash, two fulgent fingers fire twin bolts that melt the steel containers to slag. Then, arm elongating, the titan punches Doc Samson rearward a furlong, bopping him through brick buildings bordering the battle.

Undeterred, Giant-Man blitzes Zzzax from behind—with a burgeoning blanket. Ever brainy, Dr. Pym has thought to carry with him an insulating tarp—for trapping threats from Electro to the Eel. Pym particles have enlarged the "stuff" out of the sheet so that it may contain Zzzax. The massive mantle wraps the mammoth monstrosity soundly, and the Living Dynamo wails and flails in protest. Grinning, Giant-Man cinches the titan sharply at the shoulders. He cries "Gotcha! Give it up!" to the sizable specter in the sheet. Perhaps, this dielectric will make Zzzax give up the ghost.

But, spirited Zzzax stabs his exposed feet into the ground, and his foundation expands throughout the underlying earth. The Living Dynamo unreservedly shocks the rain-saturated soil, and a galvanic glow permeats the ground. The juice should jolt the assailing Avenger.

However, unshaken Pym brags, "My boots protect me from electrocution. Practice better execution."

Emulating Eve (Necker), the eidolon utters, "Ach, I shall. I've found a gasline"

Perplexed Pym loosens his grip, "Really? There shouldn't be one there. That's bad engineering."

"Sucker," says the sizzling scoundrel.

Pods firmly planted, Zzzax jerks joshed Giant-Man in a judo flip. Tall tons crash atop uneven Coast Guard junk and unforgiving ground.

Zzzax out-grapples the tremendous tarp too. He balls it in one hand and aims the other at military ordnance. In a Gaelic brogue, Necker-Zzzax needles, "Oh, ken da. We can have a fiery explosion after all."

A broad brilliant bolt blasts some of the artillery arsenal of Arsenal Street. Warning plaques deter the mayhem-maker not a bit. Protector Pym steps his super-sized form between some station personnel and peril. He shields several coastguardsmen. But, Zzzax's big bad intentions actualize anyway. Instantly, fire and force assault the Avenger, barrage America's best, obliterate equipment, incinerate structures, set boats ablaze, and raze the local region. Violent chaos consumes all before anyone can possibly react.

Relishing his ruinous work, Zzzax twirls and tosses the tarp onto a zonal inferno in disdain. From ground zero, Zzzax zips upward to a zenith over the Mississippi River. Zestfully, the titan emulates Zeus and ejaculatorily energizes the air from the overhanging thunderclouds to the top troposphere. Zzzax emblazons the heavens with lightning.

With a lightning bolt on his torn T-shirt, Doc Samson bounds the flickering firmament to the fiery dock and Doc Pym. "Hank, get smaller please," Leonard requests reduction.

Hank complies. But, he queries, "Why?"

Samson replies, "Because, we are leaving this sordid scene to St. Louis emergency services and the stifling storm rains." Unceremoniously, the strongman seizes the physicist. And, they bound from the widespread blaze.

They alight upon a building's rooftop at the city's preeminent brewery, arranged over ample acres. Pym surveys the flash-flooding facilities, "So, are we going to drown our troubles? What is the plan here?"

Samson is blunt, "We are here to rethink our approach—lest we get our asses continually kicked."

"Let's not linger too long," Pym points to the stellar luminosity lighting Missouri from the Mississippi to the city's center. Zzzax illuminates a zip code.

"Very well. Let us expeditiously do some analysis amidst the zymolysis, some cerebration near the fermentation. Let us improve our attack plan," Doc makes clear.

"Maybe you need to," Hank muses, "I am a superb physical scientist. So, I shall solve the Zzzax puzzle soon enough. However, you are a social scientist, so you may need psychoanalyze the Living Dynamo—while St. Louis burns."

"Don't be a prig, Pym."

"Don't be a lump, Leonard."

Samson shakes his chin. Then, he scratches stubble, "Typically, Zzzax absorbs a zany mix of minds into his own. How many do we know that he has presently?"

Pym nods and sighs, "Well, Zzzax has his Zen plus Tommy Shepherd plus even Eve Necker, who I encountered. Theoretically, he could contain. . . . ."

BOOM! THOOM! FOOM! Vicinal explosions interrupt an Avenger. Aloft Zzzax zaps targets far and wide. KA-BOOOSH! Cargo combusts across several Mississippi barges. KRRAAKAKK! Concentrated current cracks the landmark MacArthur Bridge. PZZTT! BLAM! KA-BOOOOM! R-R-RUMBLE! A blazing, blitzing bolt blasts an East St. Louis chemical plant—erupting an Illinoisan immolation. Then, like a sore Thor, Zzax zealously zings sizzling streams of scintillating destruction throughout St. Louis to his sinister side (i.e. the left). CRASH, SMASH, CRASH! Skyscraper glass shatters zippily into a zillion pieces. ZOOT! South Pond at the Arch evaporates in a split second. KAZART! Kosciusko Industrial Park explodes from its southernmost storage units to its northernmost machine shops.

"Zounds! Such sounds!" shouts Samson.

"Chaos abounds when mad science visits towns," Pym "insanely" steps off the roof. In a jiffy, Giant-Man is big. Samson sets himself on a sizable shoulder.

"Things always get more complicated," Hank restates.

"Isn't that true," Leonard allows.

Suddenly, Pym's wrist widget rings. An emergency broadcast alerts all of an imminent cyclone. The immense scientist scans the skies and his computer accessory. He sees a funnel cloud _fortuitously _arriving in about four minutes. The old-hand Avenger states, "I have a plan for annihilating Zzzax. But, we need to pull him into an incoming tornado."

"Well, that sucks," Samson says, "Good thing that we're superheroes."

"Can you be a decoy?" Hank dares ask.

"I can do better than that. I can be the Dynamo's doctor—deviously deceiving him to his doom. Due to our deliberation, I have a scheme to dupe him," the psychiatrist states.

"Ducky," Pym comments.

"But, how do I reach my patient?" Samson points out, "He hovers perhaps too high for you to reach without strain."

"Another Avenger plans to be here pronto," Giant-Man explains, "She radios my headset that she hastens to help. Hopefully, she arrives soon. The twister arrives really soon too."


	12. Chap 12: Aye Yi Yi!

**Chapter 12: Aye Yi Yi!**

Elsewhere, American Eagle divebombs with arms wide. Likewise, Hulk extends his incredible arms to welcome Eagle into a big, bonecrushing bear hug. But, at the last second, the raptor barrel rolls and slips the brute's boughs. Eagle bowls behind Hulk. Abruptly, he bops to Banner's back and binds Hulk about the neck. Whooping, Strongbow unreservedly knees nape, the upper spine and lower skull, seeking a swift knock-out. But, the Green Goliath will not have Jason being a David. The bellowing behemoth reaches back and fixes furiously on his foe's forearm. Hulk flips Eagle forward, snapping Strongbow's hold.

However, American Eagle fluidly lands on his feet, keeps Hulk's wide wrist, wrings the wing as though wrestling, wildly wrests the monster upward, and fiercely flips Hulk emphatically flat. Sans hesitation, Strongbow stomps the beast several times, hoping to subdue him. Jason springs aloft and clops the flipped's face. With all impetus, Eagle punches Hulk's chest and imprints the Incredible creature into the soggy soil. Booming thunder complements American Eagle's sequential merciless strikes.

Savage Hulk snarls in the slop, and he swells stronger and bigger. Suddenly, he strikes fiercely back. A giant fist slugs Strongbow from the infield all the way into Busch Stadium's scoreboard, which explodes with wattage and wreckage. The supine berserker sits-up set to avenge himself on some Avengers.

But, the next Avenger instantly comes to him.

From one hundred feet up, Tigra tackles Hulk back into the mud. Like a bikini-ed bullet, she thumps his torso, toppling him. At once, she scratches across his wide, wild eyes. He screams and swats. But, Tigra hops high and tumbles herself head-over-heels. The Cat lands on her feet and preserves one of her nine lives. Hissing at Hulk, she presents her claws as though she would carry-on keen hand-to-hand combat.

"You're crazy," Hulk stands, "Hulk crush kitty-lady to kitty litter!"

The Jade Giant charges. Nimble Tigra jukes aside. She jigs in a circle as the monster swings haymakers that miss. Her eyes glow with seeming glee while his eyes burn with growing rage. You see, within, Tigra knows that she is just the cat toy decoy while another (perhaps) abler Avenger arrives.

U.S. Agent air-drops from the fulgurating firmament last. The Quinjet streaks east—toward Zzzax. The super-soldier lands aside Hulk, splashing the fudgy, flooding field. The Captain raises his shield. Extraordinarily quick, the engine of destruction solidly strikes the shield sending surprised, sprawled Agent skidding backward.

Sometimes, ample adrenaline makes one awfully alert and quick. It can even make an oppy ox quick enough to seize the Cat (distracted by Agent's dilemma) with one huge hand and to snatch an ambushing Eagle (returning to rush from the rear) with the other. Hulk hefts the two hostages, hunkers down, and hurdles the far-off stadium wall in a single bound. Hard, heavy heels impact the asphalt expanse southwest of the stadium. Hulk hurls the heroine across the parking lot so heartily that Tigra totals a truck, tuckering her instantly. The stunned Cat falls to all fours.

Indomitable Eagle—with all of his oomph-undoes Hulk's grip at the thumb and falls rearward onto the asphalt. The Jade Giant towers over him ominously enraged. The tempest roars and tosses torrents over them both. Unafraid, American Eagle rises. He soars high to scissorlock the seething savage—encircling his hals. Strongbow's puissant punches successively successfully pummel Hulk—spraying viscous slobber. Howling Hulk launches a heavy haymaker—just as Eagle slips off. And, the great galoot hits his own head! Below, the aquiline assailant buffets the body before him, hoping to hurt and hamper the huge threat.

Looping his prodigious limb, Hulk simply hammers the warrior hard upon the crown. Eagle crumples slightly beneath the crushing blow. Arcing his arm the other way, the Incredible One uppercuts the little Navajo eighty feet straight up. Cocking the same fist, the cross creature prepares to clobber the returning pest like a volleyball. Hulk violently bops his intrepid attacker away.

Tigra comes charging in, but Hulk pops her off too. She sails somersaulting skyward.

In the vicinity, Tigra and American Eagle thump Tucker Boulevard and—tumbling forcefully—bump into each other. Hard hail begins hitting them, adding insult to any injury. Over the din, Tigra declares, "The Hulk is tough."

Groaning, Greer plants her feet and plucks Jason from the pavement. The inundated road wets the two to their ankles despite the raised boulevard having grates gushing water away. From the overpass, Jason views the area from whence they just came. Through the pelting precip, his sharp gaze peers for their opponent Hulk. Undoubtedly, he approaches again soon.

Greer's gaze assesses their immediate surroundings. High lamp posts shimmer in the thick torrents and shake in the wind. Gales spin both garbage and receptacles along the street, and lightning gives obscured skyscrapers a ghostly glow. The Green Goliath's looming bellow echoes off of the landscape.

All around, automobiles have stopped in the storm, and the werewoman worries about civilians in harm's way once Hulk arrives. On I-64 overhead, evening commuters sit like endangered ducks in a row. On Gratiot Street below Tucker, cars are fixed and stalled in flash flood waters—their horns short-circuiting, their engines dead, their interiors filling, their occupants abandoning them. Then, there is the troublesome traffic on Tucker. A single stranded Roxxon gas tanker straddles the boulevard. A trepidatious teamster stands by an open door. He has been waiting out the thunderboomer. But now, he surveys of the cats and eagles that the sky is raining. One looks like a werewolf, a woman one. And, the other is some dude who just dropped from the heavens and got up utterly unhurt! Agog, Joe Don Mahoney is a trucker who makes tracks through the pounding, ponding precipitation. Oddly enough, he survived a vampire attack back in '74 (see _Dracula Lives _#9), and the old boy ain't gettin' obliterated by monsters now!

As Joe Don flees, a full-size sedan arcs through the stormy, stygian sky whistling through the wicked winds that it cuts. Hulk heads the heroes and hauler's way.

Over east, away from the one battle, hail hits the Quinjet's canopy and fuselage. But, pilot Spider-Woman remains unrattled.

Julia Carpenter curves her craft's path to study Zzzax's turmoil. Madame Web witnesses the wreaked havoc to both the Mississippi's west and east banks, and she banks the plane to descend toward St. Louis. She hopes that the Living Dynamo has not spotted her. Gen Xer Julia would hate some Zzzax Zaxxon with the jet.

Through the storm, Spider-Woman has spotted Giant-Man keeping his head up high, abreast the Gateway Arch. The Quinjet descends to the duo of Hank and Doc. It hovers at Pym's high shoulder, and Carpenter pops the hatch so that Samson might jump in. The offered ride is probably more practical than the pair's other options of either helicopters or riverboats offering excursions from the Arch.

To the plane's pilot, Giant-Man's finger indicates enormous, iridescent Zzzax suspended over the Mississippi, "That's our adversary." Pym points-out the obvious.

Right on cue, Zzzax extends his extremities to the flickering firmament as though he be an intense, immense evil wizard about to do dark magic. And, sure enough, he is the conduit for nigh-cataclysmic forces. Astonishingly, Zzzax arrests the elements overhead and zygologically siphons seemingly the entire searing sky to his electric presence. In a zeptosecond, Zzzax absorbs nearly every occurring lightning strike for miles around. In dazzling zigzags, they zing to the Living Dynamo draining the cumulonimbus and awesomely accumulating their energies. The entity astoundingly expands across the view. His size surges precipitously until he stands from the Mississippi's surface to Missouri's sky.

"I would love to analyze the Zeeman effect of all that," Dr. Pym declares, making light of the Promethean Zzzax-zilla.

All at once, the colossal capacitor unleashes the inconceivable energy within him. Lightning's elemental fire strikes the Mississippi from surface to sediment like a MOAB bomb. The wide waters split briefly like the Red Sea before the godly. And, steaming roiled waves and fried, burst fish deluge the shores on either side of the channel. Scalding surf crashes past Giant-Man's big insulated legs and swamps the park's grass. It even replenishes South Pond with hot "soup".

Semi-stunned, Doc Samson prompts Dr. Pym (via radio), "We have fewer than four minutes to defeat that fiend, my friend."

Back at Busch Stadium, moments before, U.S. Agent aids wobbly Wasp. He helps her up. Then, he interrogates her! "How the hell did Giant-Man and Doc Samson join _my_ operation?" John jerks soiled Jan to him, "Who authorized them?"

"I did of course," answers the mud-caked original Avenger.

"You compromised a covert operation!" Agent's eyes go wide.

"Ha! I have the carte blanche to do so, boy!" the middle-aged Marvel flicks muck, "I have been doing this since before the real Captain America left the ice and you were chasing the ice cream truck. _Our _operation needed some help."

Walker seethes, "It pisses me off to spot Giant-Man and Doc Samson from the Quinjet."

Wasp snickers, "Well, you are really going to be hysterical when you learn that another super may have transported Samson from Chicago. The Windy City's Captain Ultra might have brought him, or the Great Lakes' Doorman could have done the job too. Either could be in St. Louis."

"Now, _that _really angers me!" Agent expresses. U.S. ushers her back. He gets further in her face.

Wasp ably impresses him in turn. With great acumen, she shrinks herself from the scuzzy sediment enveloping her. And, the saturated slop slimes advancing Agent instead. He shakes and scowls. The Winsome Wasp flutters before his flummoxed, filthy features like a mischievous fairy.

Jan adjures, "Agent, we need to go be Avengers. Creatures on the loose currently sack St. Louis. They endanger our allies and everybody around."

"I suppose that we could support our allies and fellow citizens," the Captain swipes stains from his costume washing in the raging rain, "Besides, Tigra just met American Eagle on the flight in, and she has grown to like him. I would hate for a man and woman's mutual affection not to prosper." Wasp poo-poos, and she coolly propels herself for Hulk's path.

Back by the river, Giant-Man runs along N. 1st Street. To his right, Zzzax stands atop Eads Bridge, an antiquated rail span. The enervated abomination is now "only" eleven-yards-tall, but he belligerently beckons all foes. Curiously, Hank flees away from the twenty-foot frenzied threat. For his plan to work, Pym must reach the newer I-70 bridge to the north.

Thus, to the south, the Quinjet speedily approaches Zzzax on autopilot. Stalwart Spider-Woman and Doc Samson stand on the soaring craft's starboard wing as they prepare to execute the Avengers' ploy.

Planting her feet, Julia pokes Leonard, "Incorporeal foes are tricky to fight. I pray that our tactic works."

Setting his frame, the strongman acknowledges, "Amen to all that."

Spider-Woman springs a psychic web very wide. Samson and she spread the net. The Quinjet zooms downward, and the heroes zero on Zzzax. The shimmering seine wraps Zzzax. Spider-Woman and Doc Samson wrap their hands in the psychic skein and hold on tight. The trap goes taut! Zzzax zips off the Eads expanse before he knows what hit him, and the monster meets the Martin Luther King Bridge a mere moment later. The galvanic gargantuan grumbles.

But, Zzzax isn't zonked for long. In zero time, the ionized oddity senses an opportunity for escape. Through the weave, Zzzax points a finger eastward. In a blink, the sentient static's index connects to the electric towers on Bloody Island, East St. Louis, Illinois. They could make a potential difference. The Living Dynamo grabs the grid, and the high-voltage spires pull his utterly pliable person from the web.

At the I-70 bridge, the heroes are shocked to find zilch instead of zaftig Zzzax in their net. Reacting, Spider-Woman scrambles to retake the cockpit and correct her conveyance's course. Doc Samson doesn't wait for course correction. His bounding form beelines through the air, and he engages Zzzax in a junkyard adjacent the power station. Sans hesitation, Samson seizes a smashed sedan and zestfully splits Zzzax with an ersatz zax ax. The bizarre bisected being reforms immediately. The hero hits Zzzax with a wrecked Zamboni, but the Zelig adjusts. Doc zings zinc scrap, brass brash, to disrupt the surging, sizzling sucker stomping forth. But, the Living Dynamo simply stops and zaps zealous Samson unreservedly.

"Catch zzzome zzzeez," Zzzax instructs, "You'll be a zzzombie onzzze I guzzzle your mind into mine."

"Not if I re-zort to zending you into the Missizzip," Doc mocks.

A marvel's fist hammers the earth so hard as to quake it. The thunderous tremor tosses the toplofty titan like a trinket. Momentarily, Zzzax disperses amidst the dip's depths. The zone's zoology-zebra mussels and mud cats—witness his fall.

Spider-Woman returns. Julia radios Hank, "Zzzax isn't nixed yet, and we know it. What now?"

"I appreciate your zetetic aesthetic. You ask a good question," Pym pulls at his chin, "You can continue to follow my cagey plan."

"Gee thanks," Arachne rolls her eyes. The plan seems to have fallen apart.

Giant-Man continues, "Please get Zzzax onto the Musial Veterans Memorial Bridge in exactly one hundred and sixty seconds. I am already there." Pym listens to the tornado sirens and whipping winds, and he smiles. His calculations seem correct.

Then, the unexpected occurs. A piece from I-70, spectacular streams shoot like lightning from the wide, rainy channel. They lick the gloom. The Living Dynamo manifests once more—more than a quarter-mile from Musial's monument.

"Jumping Jehoshaphat! He's over there!" Giant-Man jolts.

An angry Zzzax rises from the agitated aqua like an eerie zeppelin in the inclement zephyr. The ersatz Zeus retakes a zenith between Illinois and Missouri. And, he malevolently eyes both banks. How might a maniacal monster blow more America off the map? To his right, a sweeping lumberyard sits between several blocks of St. Louis. To his left, a grand grain elevator stands in Fairmont City, Illinois.

"Aye yi yi," Pym pronounces upon spotting the immense silo. Smiling headily, MODOK's mischief-maker aims in both directions. The evil entity unleashes. And, Giant-Man can only gawk, unable to effectively act.

But, Spider-Woman saves the day. With perfect timing, Carpenter and the Quinjet intercept the eastward bolt bound for the grain elevator. Unbridled electricity seizes the airship, and the controls seize-up in turn. The plane crashes across saturated crud with a thud, and the thump sends a bump up Spider-Woman's tailbone. Then, the ship's systems promptly reboot—or at least begin to.

Across the Mississippi, cruel current combusts acres of cords of wood. Then, wicked wattage explodes the sawdust under the ignited acres of lumber. Flaming debris bombards businesses along Broadway in Old North St. Louis, and burning ballistics barrage Old Man River. With a running start, the mighty Doc Samson leaps from East St. Louis, over the river waters, and into the wide fire. He rushes to search and rescue any endangered innocents in the inferno, under a downpour, at risk of lightning strike, also negotiating flash flooding. Canvassing the concrete jungle, Samson radios Pym.

"Hank, Julia and I cannot help you right now. That rutilant wretch removed us from the board, so to speak," Leonard states, "So, Zzzax has you in a zugzwang, an undesirable position in which. . . . ."

"In which one chess player forces the other to make a likely fatal move," one genius completes the other's thought.

"Yeah," Samson says.

"Fine," Pym stands erect, "I've got this. This is a job for Giant-Man."

Boldly, the Avenger raises his fists and stares-down suspended Zzzax. The Living Dynamo looks right back—but seems a little zoned. The monster mumbles to himself at the maw, and his head twitches on his shoulders. At his sides, his arms hang slack. And, stray voltage lazily leaves him.

Suddenly, the rain slackens significantly. The squalling wind ceases briefly, and atmospheric pressure painfully plummets. The super-scientist glances south. Sure enough, he spots the funnel cloud falling over the Mississippi. It frenetically whips 'round and 'round as it rumbles forward like a freight train. Huge hail replaces the rain and noisily pelts the interstate's pavement.

Between the bridge pylons, strapping Pym pounds the suspension cables. They produce ringing sound. "Jamming-out", Giant-Man plays them like a xylophone for Zzzax. Great approaching gusts help reverberate the steely cords.

Large lungs shout, "Hey, Shock-a-Zulu! Come get me! I'll beat you soundly!" Surprisingly, the Avenger seemingly wants scary Zzzax to charge-up and charge him.

Over yon, the psionically-charged electromagnetic field with humanoid form snaps to. Curtly, Zzzax comments, "Sure, sir, I'll come on over!"—while bizarrely sounding like Tommy Shepherd. With speed, Zzzax whizzes for the lone hero—while a whopping waterspout whips jetsam hard at his back. Titan and tornado converge upon Giant-Man. Amidst the hubbub, Hank hopes that his witty ruse works.


	13. Chap 13: Ask Why

**Chapter 13: Ask Why**

Meanwhile, Hulk has hectored Tigra and American Eagle all about Tucker Boulevard. Though both marvels, they can take only so much more maltreatment. For example, traffic has piled-up upon them-literally. Heinous Hulk keeps catapulting cars from afar as he approaches. Multiple autos sit atop Tigra, pinning her to pavement. Detroit steel has deluged American Eagle as he hammers it aside, his knuckles growing sore.

Finally, Hulk arrives. From the storm, he suddenly drops in. Immediately, Jason Strongbow jabs Greenskin in the "jewels". At this point, Eagle will do anything to quash the Incredible Hulk. The Jade Giant jeers jollily and flicks his fingers at puny Jason's forehead—jarring his grey jelly. But, American Eagle persists. He flying snapkicks forward. But, the big, bad brute simply slaps down Strongbow's leg and steps stiffly on his boot.

"Let's go toe-to-toe," Hulk utters. An unholy haymaker follows that nearly knocks Eagle's cranium crest off. Another follows the first, and teeth take flight all the way to Tigra witnessing slack-jawed.

Showing she's a tiger, Greer pushes up on the prodigious pile upon her. Twisted auto body scrapes bloodily into her own. Pain etches her face as the freakish feline femme fatale strains under the substantial steel. At least ten crushing tons lies dispersed over her. Against the terrible pressure, the she-beast fights her trap. But, suddenly, her hand slips in leaking oil. And, the whole mass mashes her again level.

Unrelenting, the Incredible Hulk batters the "silly goose" him. Blood flies with each furious buffet. Bones rattle with each bludgeoning bash. Behind the burgeoning black and blue and building bruises, the bested bird's brains must be becoming butter.

But, despite bulging face and a broken nose, Strongbow slugs back with an all-out punch to the sternum. The breastbone blow belts Hulk aback. Crimson dripping, American Eagle collapses and cants to his side. Corralled, the Cat cringes watching a warrior courageously commit to rising again. A cruel green foot kicks Eagle over. Cracking his knuckles, Hulk prepares to rain down more blows on his foe, flattened on the ground.

Gritting her teeth, Tigra taxes herself to the tendons. The heroine must free herself and rescue the dude in distress. Grinding her teeth, Greer twists in the trapping wreckage. Straining superbly, she takes her torso from the scrapped sedans. She is halfway out.

Peripherally, Hulk espies the laboring Lady Liberator looking to liberate herself and, once dislodged, likely launch at Hulk. The sadistic Savage snatches Strongbow and suspends him at arm's length. The leviathan lout leers at the lying lovely. Tigra looks him in the eye.

To her surprise, Hulk serenades her, "In the lamplight, the withered leaves collect at my feet, and the wind begins to moan. Meeemoryyy, all alone in the moonlight. . . . ." The crass creature apes decollating his captive while continuing the _Cats_ tune. Tapping his foot, harassing Hulk taunts the potential rescuer.

Determined Tigra tries tearing her legs loose. They advance a little. Then, shockingly, someone under the pile grabs her ankles. A girl gasps. Then, a shady shape swiftly sucks her back under the heavy heap!

Bewildered beryl brows beetle on a bullying behemoth. The rampager wonders what just happened. Where the hell did Tigra go? And, who the f*** took her there?

"Over here," someone says to the side.

Hulk's head steers right. Surprise guest Doorman wields a darkforce dirk and rips it along Hulk's right hand. Greenskin bays as green skin splits. Strongbow slips from a slackened grip. And, Tigra fleetly fetches him before he can even fall a foot. Doorman has teleported her to Eagle's aid just as he conveyed the cavalry, Doc Samson, to St. Louis to help.

But, Hulk is quick too. The beast abruptly backhands Doorman out cold, utterly unconscious. Doorman may be an Angel of Death, but he is an oblivious agent of Oblivion now.

Big feet lumber past the sprawled sap as Hulk stomps over to the Roxxon rig. A huge hand takes the bumper and tilts the tractor askew. The trudging terror tows the rig along the wet road until he stops just short of a distressed duo.

"You wouldn't dare," Greer gets his intention. But, she knows he would.

The courageous Cat cradles crimsoned, concussed comrade close. Fury personified flips the gas tanker like a thirty-ton flail. The massive cylinder smites. Strong stainless steel splits and sections. Gasoline sprays, spills, and splashes along the inundated avenue. In a wide circumference, it spreads as excited Hulk grunts and grins. His inner Maestro anticipates seeing sanguine stuff seeping amongst the fuel. Sourly, one spots none. However, Hulk supposes Tigra and Eagle smashed anyway. But, for his peace of mind, he decides to surely seal their fate. A flickering lamppost sways in the downpour. Wiley wrath steps lively for it.

Secretly, fifteen seconds ago, Tigra squatted powerful legs and intently sprang back before the blow. Two bodies exited the Tucker overpass. Strongbow and Nelson fell to the location below. On a loading dock, drenched freight squished upon their hard impact. Piled paper sacks exploded, and some wheaten sludge grossly consumed the duo.

Tigra sniffs the sodden, sticky, slurping slop that sucks Strongbow and her centerward. It is cat food! The befuddled feline woman furrows a brow. Then, she spots the company logo square above. St. Louis has a major pet food company located at Tucker and Gratiot. Tigra giggles at the slapstick situation. This fiasco of a fight just keeps getting sillier. She pulls purled pallet wrap from her person, and the peeled plastic pours impure ponding in her peepers. Plastered Jason projectile pukes on pelt. Greer gags in turn.

A stone's throw away, overhead spouts and spigots sluice in sheets upon Gratiot Street. Joe Don Mahoney earnestly slogs east away from the tumult transpiring on Tucker. A whipping west wind drives the frazzled driver forward, fixed on safety. Flash flooding swamps his steel-toes.

Suddenly, U.S. Agent sprints past in the opposite direction, and Wasp wings by likewise toward trouble. Moseying on, Mahoney muses that they are braver than he.

On Tucker Boulevard, Hulk snaps a steel lamppost and brings forth the live wires within. He raises the hissing cables high. Over him, a shadow hurdles. Behind him, U.S. Agent alights. From thin air, Wasp appears before the brute. She catches the cantankerous creature's attention. She is the decoy. From the rear, Walker wraps Banner's waist and raises him rapidly. In one fell swoop, the super-soldier smacks the monster into the cement with a wicked wrestling take-down.

Simultaneously, Jan reduces to Wasp size. Snarling, Hulk sends the sizzling cables toward the ground's great gas puddle. In the nick of time, Wasp unleashes an unrestrained sting at the electricity's source. The bio-blast bisects the conduit neatly and cuts the jeopardous juice just as the Jade Giant jabs it past the fuel fumes. Hulk rails with rage. Wasp grins widely, for she does not want to be blown-up again as occurred twice recently.

Ever on task, U.S. Agent presses his advantage. He uprights his enormous opponent and knees him in the spine and kidneys. They are stunning strikes. Next, John seizes Bruce's posterior shorts—to Hulk's surprise. Lifting, Agent swings the off-balance oaf by the briefs and spins around successively faster and faster. Hulk holds on tight—seemingly for modesty's sake. And, Agent has to smile, for the action indicates that civilized Banner is in there somewhere. Spiraling Cap slings the "Hulk hammer" southwest, far through the St. Louis sky. The patriotic protector pursues.

The lobbed leviathan lug lands in Layafette Square, a good length away. From the park, livid Hulk launches several trees in frustration. The large logs arc over the mile from whence he came. Charging U.S. Agent checks the chunks' trajectory, turns down Chouteau Avenue, and keeps chasing after Hulk.

Wasp checks on her fellows. She channels her communicator, and chum Tigra answers the earpiece as chunky cat chow slithers down her cheek. Jan comes to her comrades. Greer shakes the s*** from her fur in the washing, rinsing rain. Van Dyne spots blood-spattered Strongbow supine and lying still. She stoops by his swollen face and speaks encouragement. The stalwart super unsteadily sits-up, his head swimming. He sucks for breath and passes out again. Little Jan snags the swooning man before head bumps pavement.

Wasp tells Tigra, "Aid U.S. Agent. John is alone against Bruce. He'll get his ass kicked."

"Like the rest of us have?" chafed Tigra would raise her hackles if it didn't hurt.

"Don't fuss. The boy heroes sometimes need a rescue," fluttering Wasp tows American Eagle toward a loading area first aid station, "For example, that is why I must stay here and play Florence Nightingale."

Aching Tigra rolls her eyes, "Neither your feminist appeal nor I am adamantine though."

Duty-bound, the harried, hairy heroine heads for the battle between Bellerophon and the Chimera. Tigra's extraordinary ears can almost hear it.

In Lafayette Square, Hulk blusters above the booming thunder and buffeting gale. Arms broad, he bellows his building belligerence for all above, around, and below. Bone-chilling, bestial blurts break through the black evening barraging St. Louis as citizens batten down in their abodes' basements—cyclone sirens blaring.

"Aaah, shad up!" Agent's shield scuds the deluge and slams directly into the monster's open maw.

Amazingly, the hurled disk hits with such force and accuracy that it actually wedges in the Green Goliath's gaping mouth! Mashing his molars! Assaulting his uvula and epiglottis! Transfixing his tongue! Chiseling his jawbone loose in an instant! And, stretching his smarting cheeks like a mauled chipmunk's!

"Uuuuugh!" Hulk lets out.

The shocked sucker swivels his head violently back and forth, but the dismayed dastard cannot dislodge the damned disk easily. The riled rampager reaches to rip the shield clean—regardless what red may spray.

But, a super-soldier wont' let the big guy regain an advantage. Walker's boot whumps Banner's belly. And, the Captain's dukes clock the berserker one way before biffing and boxing him the other and then the other. Hulk suddenly blocks a blow. But, Agent instantly body slams the belligerent bruiser.

U.S. Agent is an expert fighter of the highest degree who might yet defeat the Hulk in hand-to-hand combat. However, he wouldn't mind some help. He would not mind Wasp, Tigra, and American Eagle hastening here. The Captain would welcome such a group effort. Hell, Walker would not mind Spider-Woman, Giant-Man, and Doc Samson showing up too.

Champing at the bit, Hulk bounces to his feet. Sans hesitation, U.S. Agent bastes Hulk on "the button", the chin. Unshaken, the Green Goliath beans Cap's crown. He bats him backward and busts him through a bench. Getting back up, Agent grabs a boulder and breaks it on Hulk's head. But, he rapidly realizes that it was actually a big old urn, a park artifact purposefully kept on a pedestal. The patriotic putz wonders what history just got obliterated. However, Cap cannot cogitate much before Hulk begins birching him repeatedly with an uprooted tree! The long trunk lashes. Walker grabs the abusing extension and plays crack the whip. The woody whip does indeed crack into kindling. Bold Agent bull-rushes Hulk—who simply boots the brazen bozo through the brush. The powerhouse pursues. The skidding soldier plows through a large flower bed as if coming to rest in his funeral plot. He impotently throws dirt in Hulk's eyes when the Incredible arrives. Addled anger ambles over and yanks an irritating jerk upright. Getting mean, Agent mashes the shield lodged between Hulk's lips, and the man-monster lets loose an agonized cry. Cocking his arm, Walker prepares to really wallop the wedge home. But, the great beast arrests Agent's able arm in mid-stroke.

The mammoth monster mumbles, "Wait." Surprised, U.S. Agent inhales sharply. He hopes that civilized and mild Banner returns.

Exhaling violently, Hulk spits a vibranium shield, bloody saliva, and viscous boogers into U.S. Agent's face. Cap cringes beneath the blob of bunk. The Savage swats the scummy pest across Lafayette Park,

and the super-patriot rings a Sen. Benton's bronze statue like a bell, cracking it. Galloping over, the Gamma Goon grabs two burnished British cannons affixed here since 1897. America acquired them from the _Actaeon_ in 1776. He devilishly deracinates the dear dual relics with high dudgeon. The raised cannons resemble clubs about to cruelly crack cranium. Crud-covered Cap careens for his shield. With a CLANG, he blocks one bulky bludgeon. But, the other clobbers his side. Swinging his shield, Cap capably cuts the offending iron in half. Crossing back, Agent parries another perilous blow. Quickly, he clasps the ironclad club, crimps it, and crushes it into scraps.

Immediately, U.S. Agent signals time-out. Curious, Hulk holds his cocked right cross.

Jingoist Johnny adjures, "Wait. We need to move our melee. Too much urban Americana is getting wrecked."

"Okay, puny human," Hulk flings the noble fighter away.

Walker reels south to Lafayette Park's duck pond. When he plants there, the pool at least purges his putrid coverings. U.S. Agent pauses beneath the pond to plan a counterattack. But, Hulk plugs unrelentingly to his prey. The wild wight wades into the dingy water, frenetically feels about the boggy bottom, finds John, and plucks a "dead duck" from the muck. Sadistically, the Savage slugs Agent east. Knuckles knock the knight through nettles to a nearby grotto. Grating his teeth, Hulk crashes through the growth between U.S. Agent and him. As though a daft golfer, the crazed creature grabs the grotto's antique iron bridge and deftly chooses a decent driver to chip-shot a chump. He dislodges the bridge and dings his mark in a high arc o'er the park. At the green's perimeter, a pointed iron fence stands. Spotting the possible impalement, the sailing super-soldier slips his shield between his shoulders. It snubs the spikes, and saves Johnny from being skewered. He somersaults upright on the Park Avenue sidewalk.

Right behind Agent, a leaping Hulk lands. "Sucker punch!" Greenskin announces. A jab jars the super-soldier's side.

"Slug bug!" a ferocious fist stuns the Jingoist of Justice's shoulder. There is, in fact, a Beetle parked on Park Avenue near the park.

"Rabbit punch!" a wrathful rap rams Agent forward with such force as to buckle the Lafayette barrier, erected in 1869 and now wrecked one hundred and fifty years later.

"Shield sling for stupid man," a prodigious palm cups the shield strapped on Agent's back.

Hulk hefts the hostage, "Let me tell you something, Avenger. I know Captain America. Captain America is a friend of mine. And, puny, you're no . . . um . . . aah . . . you're stupid!"

Simple Hulk simply slings the shield—and thus attached U.S. Agent—crisply southwest. The odd discus spins the secured silly before the ballistic breaks an expansive stained glass window. Then, the loopy's landing splinters several pew rows inside a revered Methodist church, raised in 1888.

To his credit, Hulk considerately hops through the existing aperture, the busted glass, to enter the temple. As the heavens rage outside, the Green Goliath raises a sinister fist with bad intent. Hulk would _smash _the super-soldier. But, U.S. Agent checks the churl. Chagrined, he chucks his convex colors at the chippy chap. With effort, the champion tremulously stands.

The chauvinist chevalier declares, "Not in a church. That would be un-American."

"Fine, let's fight outside," Hulk chews his lip. Upon finding the oaken exit doors locked, the choleric cur collapses them. Cap cringes.

Outside, precipitation pours from the churning skies to the chugging sewers. The cold shower feels very cherry to Hulk, and he chuffs from his chest like an immodest chimp. By chance, he spots a charnel facility, a funeral home, facing the church. He chortles. Hulk can just shove the Agent chunks through the mail-chute when he's done. Chin high, Hulk turns around to face his foe.

But, the gargantuan child sees no challenger standing in the street.

"Cheap shot!" camouflaged Cap casts his circular swatter from a caliginous alley.

The shield chops a chicaned chump's common fibular nerve, and a big knee buckles like cut chafe. The huge creature caterwauls. And, he caresses his tender charley horse. From the shadows, U.S. Agent charges the chastened dope like a full-tilt choo-choo. Like Bobby Steele, Johnny blitzes the brute and carries the cross clod all the way to the next street corner.

The combatants crash into a quiet public library. Weary Walker busts the bestial Banner through brick, plaster, and several bookcases. Agent chocks Hulk's heel and crashes the chivvying pair through a crown glass door. In the library's central chamber, Agent briefly chokes Hulk and chips the marble floor with a huge melon. The monster grabs for extended arms. John changes tactics. He cartwheels upright. America's shield severs an antique chandelier overhead. It drops toward Hulk—who cracks it aside. The charming relic breaks on the wall.

Scratching his chin, Greenskin stands, "Why you trash library like Hulk? Here has nice old things."

"I'm being practical now," the super-soldier declares, "F*** historical preservation!"

"Good, because I'm hitting you that way," the ponderous palooka points. A powerful punch propels Cap's "can" into dual chiffoniers, chocked with archival treasures: from first editions to a forty-eight-star Old Glory.

Amidst debris, U.S. Agent lies a moment catching his breath. The Hulk is a considerable opponent even for the world's most elite fighter (Steve Rogers might disagree with John). And, Walker can hear the heavy steps stomping his way—echoing ominously in the library's dome. Actual thunder accompanies them.

Another cruel blow cruises in, but Agent's upraised iconic aegis absorbs much of the impact. Avenger Walker rallies. He counterattacks—cuffing Hulk across the face. Furious, the Jade Giant socks back—but misses. His fist demolishes the wall. His other huge hand simply shoves U.S. Agent into the next room.

Ever rampaging, Hulk wrecks the wall wider to allow himself access to the adjacent area. The children's section has no kids currently. These days, American elementaries teach primary pupils "run, hide, fight". And, the runts reading today have run out into the raging rain rather than face one of those fracases common in the nightly news.

So, the Incredible Hulk endangers only the idyllic environment and intrepid U.S. Agent. The creature crushes little furniture and crunches cheap computers. He throws chintzy art about and topples stuffed toys. He sends some low ceiling to the calico carpet. He tosses a bookcase or two through the broad bay window.

Then, the Jade Giant towers over tired U.S. Agent. His silhouette is terrible and threatening against the tenebrous, tempestuous eve's backdrop. The colossal creature snarls. But, to Walker's surprise, Banner also sighs. Then, Hulk sucks some oxygen and slumps a wee—before squaring his shoulders once again. Fatigued Walker wonders if, somehow, the tall terror is tired too.

"Hulk smash you good!" the monster raises his whopping fist.

"Actually, Hulk smashes one well," reproves someone from the side, "Read a book." Tigra tosses a forty-pound dictionary at the great green dunce.

A massive middle finger simply taps the tome aside. Hulk trudges toward Tigra. Interestingly, his gait betrays a certain fatigue.

"I am here to protect my pal," Tigra crosses her arms assertively. Within, Greer is nervous as a cat.

The Green Goliath flexes his monumental muscles, "Hulk is the Strongest One There Is. What is puny pussycat going to do?"

"What am I going to do?" Tigra selects a book from a shelf, "Why, pick a book for you, of course. You can't beat a good book."

Looking befuddled, Hulk barks, "Banner reads books! Hulk does not!"

Behind Hulk, U.S. Agent sneaks-up. He notices a strange sluice of sweat cascading down the beast's back.

Before Hulk, Nelson notices Greenskin's complexion changing slightly. The emerald hue shifts to lime—with hints of ashen gray. And, Tigra Cheshire-grins slyly at the chromatic change. Observable enervation offers relief and cause for optimism. Tigra stalls for some time.

"Are you sure that you won't read awhile? It relaxes the mind," the amiable Avenger offers the book again.

Hulk grows grayer, and his height falls a foot. Stored mass farts from his physique.

"This is a good book," Greer insists, "You should read it."

Indignant eyes judge the cover. Gray Hulk cuffs the TPB aside, "Don't have to. Hulk has lived it."

"What, dummy? You don't like books with pictures?" Agent antagonizes from aft, "Them 'r my favorite."

Spinning, Joe Fixit throws crackerjack combinations. But, Cap masterfully maneuvers about. The monster misses again and again. Eventually, he hits once heavily. But, the right hook just rings Walker's rampart, raised like a punch mitt. Mr. Fixit flings another that the rigid bulwark likewise blocks, bruising dun knuckles.

"Hey! Why don't you try hitting yourself," the super-soldier suggests. He recalls that Eagle, at the stadium, egged Hulk to hit himself and that the tactic kind of worked.

To the side, Tigra subtly shakes her head. The superheroine is unsure what she can do to aid "yutz" U.S. Agent. Ms. Nelson had Hulk nicely relaxed and nearing normal. Now, Walker has Banner in fickle flux again.

Astonishingly, a green third arm instantly morphs from Hulk's gray chest and uppercuts him unreservedly. Agape, Cat and Cap witness the freak wobble, pass-out, and pitch forward. Hulk is Banner before he even hits the floor, which the heroes let him.

"That was unexpected," U.S. Agent jocosely comments.

Tigra preens, "I am very proud of myself. I just defeated the Hulk." She pushes him with a playful foot.

Of course, the Cat could merely have her mind's version of events.

Doc Samson could explain. If he has survived Zzzax, the Living Dynamo.


	14. Chap 14: Get High!

**Chapter 14: Get High!**

Elsewhere, a wee earlier on, Avenger Hank Pym engages the electromagnetic field of humanoid form known as Zzzax. Mutually standing stories high, they stare each other down as huge hailstones pelt and fall. Zzzax doesn't flinch, for he is intangible. Giant-Man doesn't flinch because Hank is tough as hell, and Dr. Pym designs a good protective suit. The wild welkin's wind whips and wallops the two with debris and water as an F-3 twister nears from but a football field away.

"I have you where I want you!" a superhero's stentorian boast bellows.

"Do na be priggish, Pym," a Scottish tongue unexpectedly emanates from Zzzax.

"Eve Necker?" Hank Pym asks.

"Ah," the entrapped intellect answers, "I discerned your design like any accomplished mental giant would, from a to zed. Then, I directed the Shepherd boy to zoot Zzzax to ye."

The sizzling fiend has a one-second seizure. Then, Speed speaks, "Actually, Eve and I collaborated to overcome Zzzax's Zen and zend—um, send—him to you. ZORT!" Zzzax spasms again.

"And, I now return!" the Living Dynamo retakes its dome, "Prepare to perish you . . . holy zh**! A zyclone!"

Prof. Pym smiles smugly in a shocked sap's face and shrinks swiftly down from mammoth to miniscule. The old Ant-Man experiences a major head-rush, but he manages to focus. He fleetly flees. Like a swashbuckler, the marvelous myrmidon has mere seconds to escape peril. Forsooth, the furious F-3 shall soon suck even the smallest life from the Musial Bridge. Pym sprints for the structure's side with perfect timing. He has perfect timing because a super-genius can easily calculate exactly when a given whirlwind wrecks where. Any other genius meteorologist need not apply.

Hank heaves himself from the great height over the rough river.

Out of the black night, a bounding Doc Samson propitiously snatches plummeting Pym from mid-air and delivers him safely to the Illinois shore. Many superheroes can have perfect timing.

Like deus ex machina, the whirlwind takes the titan on the bridge. The tornado hits. Reinforced concrete crumbles and collapses into circling, clattering clutter. Road rails crumple and curve into chrome-covered skewers. One tags the titan and spectacularly sparks live static. Suspension lines sever into several serpentine switches swaying chaotically in the clamorous, coming curtain of wind. For a sec, Zzzax cants his chin and considers escape. He canvasses the carousel of cables and consciously conceives his crisis. Those lines are iron, copper, cobalt, and every other conductor under the clouds. They could cancel Zzzax catastrophically. The concerned creature cranks his can around quickly. But, the charging cyclone is also swift.

The careening calamity catches Zzzax. The counterclockwise commotion casts capering cables through the coruscating creature as it clouts him with winds and cargo clocking three hundred kph. Curling cables capture the Living Dynamo in all of his quarters, and centrifugal force threatens to shred the struggling thing that the super-scientist suckered to the suspension bridge.

Cables cut cruelly crisscross through the entity's incorporeal core. Copper and iron capture Zzzax's current and cart his "flesh" to the winds. The crackling composite cries in cognition of his critical quandary. An anchored cord cricks his carpus and cracks his arm clean off. A cable clobbers his chest and cops some charge away. Zzzax keens wretchedly. A cable collars him and half-crops his crop, cutting his voice. Half-decapitated, Zzzax clutches his cocked cabbage, keeping it attached. Coupled lines excoriate keister, and the crazed Kaiser carps. A second cable slices Zzzax's center, and his core collapses. He contorts and caterwauls cupping his caved-in trunk. A coppery knout cleaves Zzzax's coconut clear through his _cabeza_. Feeling crummy, poor King Clod keels over and collapsesto the causeway. A cornucopia of killer wires carry clumps of creature excruciatingly away. The capitulating construct comes apart in kaleidoscopic clusters until the decomposed cad resembles something crushed through a colander. The incapacitated carcass scatters to the shearing winds. The kooky consciousness croaks. Upon dying, Zzzax coughs-up the consciousness of a criminal Caledonian and a cruising kid's too.

The tornado casts the cables, Zzzax, and an entire collage of debris far and wide across the countryside from Kirkwood to Kampville, Missouri.

Later, after the clock advances a few, tuckered Avengers take the time to aid Damage Control in disaster clean-up. St. Louis city crews appreciate the support. Of late, the Lou has endured flash flooding, two respective monster rampages, and a tornado. Its citizens could use some superhuman assistance with the significant destruction. At this midnight hour, Missourians are happy to see heroes helping.

A news crew broadcasts the Avengers' benevolence for viewers to see. Reporter Harmony Whyte and cameraman Raf Abrams used to cover aspiring adventurer the Human Fly. They are pleased to present this evening august Spider-Woman and her amazing friends. The journalists extol and interview Earth's Mightiest Heroes briefly before throwing it to St. Louis' Jack McGee at Lafayette Square—where he has just missed the Hulk.

Still, amidst the amity and appreciation, one hero shakes his head. U.S. Agent carps, "Christ, the press! We could have kept this covert operation better concealed. I feel like punching somebody! Even though I already did a lot of that tonight."

"True," Bruce Banner oversees operations a bit. He has a good eye for engineering.

Although, Hank Pym does too. Over Banner, Giant-Man encourages all, "Oh, buck up, everyone!"

"Why?" Tigra sorely slogs hefty trash to a Damage Control dumpster. Anyone can see that she is dinged-up after dual battles.

"Because, we are A-Force, a force to be reckoned with!" Spider-Woman slings steel scrap over her shoulder, "We can do it!"

"And, huzzah! We have defeated Zzzax according to my calculations" Pym proclaims, congratulating himself.

"Oh," the Cat sulks and skulks off.

"Well-done," Wasp compliments Giant-Man. Jan always gets a kick out of Hank.

Wasp wields a cold bottled water to Doc Samson. She slips the icy item into his pocket, for his hands are occupied. Strong Samson carries a car over his head. The Sterling Motors vehicle stalled out on the inundated interstate, so Leonard walks the full-size sedan to the flatbed rig that will take it away. He will get another auto after this one. The Stan Musial Veterans Memorial Bridge has plenty of them. They constitute part of the mess that superheroes must clear before restoring the bridge. Incredibly, the Avengers intend to reclaim, repair, and re-open the expanse within the hour.

Samson strolls back, and he passes Doorman helping dispose of debris. DeMarr "Doorman" Davis draws in dangerous dreck that Damage Control's Jim Palmetto spots. In other words, the Living Portal gets to suck-up the highway's hazardous waste like a damn dredge and deposit it into proper containers elsewhere. Seemingly, a Great Lakes Avenger's dirty duty and drudgery are never done.

From on high, Giant-Man's voice speaks while standing stalwartly in the rushing Mississippi. He lauds the laborers, "You are doing a good job. Keep it up. Keep cleaning the causeway." Weltering water wallops his wide legs in their wondrous wetsuit.

Jan helps Hank inspire, "Soon, we can use Gene Strausser's spiffy stopgap to reconnect the bisected roadway."

Pym praises, "Indeed, I like Damage Control's r&d man. He provided his pal Palmetto with substitute street that expands to fill any fractured roadway, and he even shrunk the stuff with Pym particles, which I find particularly flattering. We can replace the missing section of the Musial memorial momentarily."

"You Avengers are good at assembling," Jim Palmetto quips.

In short order, the assembled have made the route ready for restoration. Giant-Man, Spider-Woman, Doc Samson, and U.S. Agent each take a corner of the F-3's fissure. Hank's enlarged arm extends to the middle of the gap. Gritting his teeth, Hank enlarges the implement in his hand. It quickly grows heavy on his stretched extremity, and he strains to lower it gracefully to his group.

"Each take a corner," Captain America takes charge, although everyone knows already the plan.

"The placement looks good over here," Dr. Banner oversees the engineering operation at Doc Samson's shoulder. Bruce would love to add his inner strength to the endeavor. But, his contused colleagues request that he simply stay calm after recent events, and abashed Banner isn't angry over the instruction.

"Things look good over here too," Jan van Dyne acts the part of director while Doorman dabbles with darkforce behind her. If need be, he can help support Strausser's tool. Likewise, Tigra stands near Samson should she need try the same.

The trusty truss fits the fracture nearly perfectly when the four powerhouses place it. Amazingly, the cement section expands like living, aware putty afterward. Nanotech knits the new slab to the existing span, and the Musial's 1500-foot length is restored. Six "boys" and three "girls" jig about the "darned" deck. Whyte and Abrams broadcast the happy scene to what area houses have power after the storm. The ebullient Assembled exchange high-fives and ass smacks.

"Damage Control can take the pontine project from here," Jim Palmetto pronounces, "The company can stay to reconnect the span's severed stays."

"Stays are the cables on a cable-stayed bridge such as the Stan Musial Veterans Memorial," Dr. Pym proudly educates the "uneducated".

"And, the bridge was completed in 2014 and stands 435-feet tall and eight-six-feet wide," testy Tigra speaks nasally and pushes pretend glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Psychiatrist Samson shakes his head and smirks. He heedfully redirects everyone. Raising an aqua, Leonard toasts, "Let this joint project provide the bridge to our next opportunities then. Mazltof!"

Dr. Banner bats his eyes at the bad wordplay. "But, what should the Avengers and allies' next move be?" Bruce asks.

From out the blue, a green streak breaks the blackish night. Speed skids to a halt amongst his comrades. In his arms, the hearty mutant hefts American Eagle, and the marvelous mutate hops from his holder. Jason looks like hammered crap. But, a metahuman can apparently heal quickly over a few hours. He looks less lousy than when an ambulance took him away.

Standing straight, Strongbow curls his fat lips and crinkles his crooked nose beneath his shiner. His one good peeper stares daggers at Bruce Banner. But, Jason just keeps smiling. A hero understands that a Hulk can't help but smash others. American Eagle ambles to his recent ass-kicking opponent. He thrusts his motorcycle helmet hard into Banner's chest.

"I should've worn this accessory to my costume [see _Thunderbolts _#112] when we clashed," Jason joshes, "Now, because I didn't, I can't. My damn head is too swollen."

"Well, I assure you that I do not have a swollen head over the situation," sheepish Bruce states. He has had too many of these awkward post-fight conversations over the years.

Tigra rescues blushing Banner, "I am simply glad to see you doing well, Eagle. For example, you don't sound too loopy." The Cat catches the battered birdman and pets his breast.

Green Tommy takes in the sensuous scene and scowls slightly, despite himself. Ever hot-to-trot, and a little naïve, Young Avenger Speed imagines having Tigra to himself. However, he dallies on daydreams not long.

Rather, he shouts to get everyone's attention—including Tigra's. "Hey!" hollers he, "American Eagle has somethings to say. Howabout he comes over here and apprises us."

Strongbow steps away from Greer and Bruce. He strolls to the middle of the street. The Avengers circle in loose assembly.

"I have interrogated AIM's Chemistro," Eagle announces, "He wound-up at the same hospital that the City of St. Louis took me."

Agent chuckles, "I bet that interview included its 'enhanced methods'."

"Nah, a Navajo never uses such tactics unless necessary. Maybe, you do," one all-American admonishes another, "Actually, Curtis Carr contains some hero to him. He provided leads on his AIM associates right and left."

"Or, he is really pissed that MODOK nearly killed him," Spider-Woman supports Agent's snark, "So, he doesn't mind finking on fellows, for the Avengers will avenge him a bit."

"Either way," Tigra interjects, "I would not mind tracking-down Chemistro's chums and cutting them short." The cantankerous werewoman whips her claws about.

"An Angel of Death could go for such action as well," Doorman affirms the Cat's ire.

Wasp rolls her eyes at her allies' uncivilized animosity, "Anyway, what information do you have for us, American Eagle?"

Jason Strongbow shares his scuttlebutt. The others recount their evenings too and analyze events. The Avengers, Doc Samson, and American Eagle figure that they must apprehend Fixer. He got away. They further figure that they should determine Mentallo, MODOK, Grey Gargoyle, and Eve Necker's fates. Each is probably not conveniently dead. So, the good guys should find those four. And, the champions should check-in on Barney Fiddler and Plainsman. Quite likely, the CSA has kindly snuck those two problem kids back into the public. Fortunately, Zzzax is indubitably dispersed, and Chemistro is dinged-up and detained.

Hank Pym proposes, "We ten assembled should split-up to pursue the several parties who could be scattered from Scotland to St. Louis to St. Joseph and beyond."

"Yeah! For them, the end is nigh!" Captain Ultra suddenly lands amidst his colleagues.

Ultra is hours late and a dollar short. And, his "superhero landing" quakes the still unstable span. Rattled, his annoyed colleagues stare him down a few seconds. They also glare because Ultra's costume is ever goofy.

Finally, U.S. Agent guffaws, "I would have preferred that Hyperion be our man of steel. But okay."

Giant-Man assesses the ersatz superman. Dr. Pym assigns him so, "Say, you have heat vision and true flight. You could assist Damage Control with sealing stays into place while staying here while the rest of us go get evildoers."

Congenial Captain Ultra comments, "I like to help."


	15. Chap 15: The End is Nigh

**Chapter 15:** **The End is Nigh**

**Fixer's Pig Sty**

Norbert Ebersol enjoys Ames, Iowa. It is a quiet place relative to often raucous New York City or even St. Louis. Often, Avengers and such harass Fixer horribly in the big city. By contrast, Ames is a staid, mid-sized college town. A supervillain feels safe here on the campus of "Moo U". And, the clandestine AIM agents around him feel safe and secure too. Since the 1940s, the federal government and other fine folks have secreted certain sensitive operations here. So, Fixer figures that he can relax and relish his adjunct AIM assignment analyzing Argon, Element of Doom. Iowa may border Missouri, but that recent Missouri misery is behind Bert.

But, directly behind Bert Ebersol, Dr. Bruce Banner stands this day. The original Avenger steps into the den of evildoers. And, some AIM operatives go wide-eyed and antsy. They recognize who just walked-in; they expediently exit without relaying a warning to Fixer. Foreboding Banner beelines for their new colleague.

Bruce cracks his knuckles near Bert's ears. Banner's hands—and whole physique—have expanded somewhat. At Bert's back, half-Hulk huffs, "Hey, egghead, turn around."

Bald Ebersol advises, "I'm not Elihas Starr. He's at lunch."

"Oh, excuse me then," baritone Banner biffs Ebersol alongside the head. The tap rings Bert's bell.

Blinking rapidly, the bothered rogue announces, "I am the Fixer actually. And, I am about to fix you."

Techno turns tersely. Truculent, he quickdraws a blaster. A burgeoning brute bats it easily aside. A puny poindexter's dress shirt and slacks pop-off and rip-away as a green beast grows. Abruptly, Fixer's jaw drops. Instantly, the old villain activates some armor about his person. Nanotech nicely ensheathes him.

But, the Incredible Hulk simply sees a bulwark encasing a bauble that he can bash around for a bit. Bellowing, the Green Goliath seizes Fixer and slings him through the ceiling. Savagely, Hulk pursues. A commotion follows throughout the university's Physics Hall before a great green fist punches Fixer through the building's façade.

Fixer flies all the way to the campus clock tower. His carcass cracks it when he crashes off, and he falls thirty feet flat upon the quad. Crumbling brick cascades down upon him. Immediately, a very cross Hulk leaps the distance to the dinged dastard. He lands by the cringing, semi-conscious criminal. Hulk clocks Fixer around some more. . . . .

Soon, local cops take a supervillain into custody.

**Not so Sly, Marv**

Elsewhere, on another day, Mentallo's limo passes through Wentzville, Missouri. From I-70, Flumm can eye beautiful Lake St. Louis shimmering in the September sun. Mentallo thinks to himself that he sure is glad to soon get the hell out of the Show Me State. "Show me the stage right" is his escapist notion.

Semi-mangled Marv Flumm shifts restlessly in his comfy seat within the luxury auto. Awful pain still accompanies him a month after Speed callously dropped him from a damn rail trestle. Turning his tuchus tenderly, Think Tank rues the rods rubbing his flesh within and the braces bothering his body without. Granted, injured mutants mend swiftly and mend well like superhumans. Mentallo is a supervillain who should count his blessings. But, the trip from Kansas City has been a long one. It has been three freakin' hours of full annoyance across the entirety of Mizzou-ri.

And, Mentallo has an "interminable" flight ahead of him too. It pisses off Marv that he will soon endure ten hours from St. Louis to London only to then "hop" from England to Edinburgh, Scotland, only to then take a private plane to remote Raasay Island in the UK's far north. There, Dr. Eve Necker at least promises to treat Mr. Flumm well. The good, but deviant, doctor invites Mentallo into Project: Death's Head, whatever the hell that is. Apparently, ol' Eve requires a psychic to delve into the mind of some "minion" (that was the term used) while she deconstructs and remakes the poor duffer.

Whatever. Marv merely hopes that he finds some Scottish whiskey at Lambert International once the limo reaches St. Louis' airport. He could use some libation with his pain meds.

Within, Marv muses, "What the f*** do they call a tincture of opium? Laudanum. Yeah, the barkeep at the airport lodge can lay one of those on me. Mentallo merely must become more blotto than he already is." Mentallo wants to be sedated.

Currently, the (normally) keen clairvoyant—thanks to painkillers—cannot even clearly psychically surveil David Cannon, his driver. David Cannon is both the Master of Evil Whirlwind and a licensed chauffeur. How he passes the background check for a cdl, who knows?

From the front seat, chauffeur Cannon makes conversation, "I sure am glad that I was visiting my hometown of Kansas City when you needed help."

"Hooray for that serendipity," Flumm fidgets in discomfort, "What brought you back to KC? Visiting family?"

"Oh no. Nothing so wholesome," Dave grins, "I am always stalking some bitch—like Jan van Dyne or whoever. In this case, old flame Bonnie Kaye [see _Power Man and Iron Fist _#106] caught my attention. I spy on her social media, so I knew that she visits a seriously sick sibling. But, she would sometimes be alone too."

Marv scowls, "You want to spread your mutant seed, do you?"

"Whirlwind romance!" Cannon pumps his fist and cackles.

Sometimes, Mentallo hates his deviant associates with a real passion. "Let's change the subject," responds the Resistant.

"To what?" wonders Whirlwind.

"Why, to something nice such as how you sprang me from the hospital," says Flumm, "Many thanks."

"It was my pleasure," Cannon assures, "I liked whupping the g-men guarding a criminal colleague and then just whisking you out the window like what-for."

"Yeah, I have to wonder why SHIELD wasn't guarding me, but I'll take some soft FBI special agents and some sheriff's deputies any day," Marvin gazes out the window at St. Peters golf course in St. Peters, Missouri. The auto keeps advancing eastbound.

"Heck, I see a smokey now," driver David mentions dutiful deputies, "I reckon that we better run the route to the airport right quick before that radar ranger ropes us wanteds in."

"Yeah right," Mentallo amiably agrees. But, within, he notes that the hack's vulgar phrasing and voice sound familiar. The experienced intelligencer strokes his goatee.

Guffawing, Cannon acknowledges, "Of course, speeding would actually more likely get us pulled over. But, rushing is Whirlwind's way. I'm Whirlwind, of course."

"Hmph," the psychic studies his subject empirically and telepathically. But, recent patient Mentallo is zonked. His powers of observation ail awfully. His mind probe is meager. He damn near dozes despite possible danger directly ahead in the driver's seat.

Silence follows in the fast sedan, and fifteen minutes flit by. Then, the limo overshoots the expected exit to Lambert International Airport. The passenger purses his lips. He considers his options for overpowering Whirlwind, or whoever has him. From I-70, the car's path curves to the I-170 entrance ramp, and the vehicle's vector veers Marv toward Berkeley—where he has been before. A month previous, he fleetly fled from here. Flumm's lids flutter, for, through the windshield, he sees the Shaw facility in the distance. Secretly, Shaw Industries manufactures Sentinels in Missouri, and mastermind Mentallo knows such fully.

So, Marvin sighs. A trained dark op, he considers killing the driver carrying him toward the sinister site. Mentallo cogitates. Either "fellow" mutant Whirlwind has went turncoat and deserves to die as a race traitor. Or, some repugnant regular racist relays powerful Mentallo to Project: Wideawake when he is wounded and vulnerable so that sordid scientists can distress him.

Muddled Mentallo prepares a desperate mind blast. But, he fails to deliver it, for the limousine turns again. It takes the Airport Road exit and heads into a familiar Roxxon gas station that Flumm has seen before. Plainsman and he stopped here after the row at the Rowen.

"Remember when we were here before?" the passenger queries his driver. The duped deduces this and that.

"I can't say that I remember," Cannon comments.

"Well, that would be true," Mentallo thinks to himself, "You can't say. That would blow your cover."

"Cannon" conveys the car to the petroleum pumps, "Say, I forgot to f***ing fuel this motherf***** before escaping Kansas City. We're out of gas."

Marvin Flumm feels like a teenaged girl out on a date with a creep. He questions the driver, "So, you didn't top-off our get-away vehicle before taking it? Well, that's not very f***ing professional, pardner."

Mentallo pronounces it "pardner" instead of "partner", for he will eat his Psycho-Helmet if this pathetic putz is not the Plainsman.

"Well, um, she's a real gas-guzzler," the poser puts it in park.

Mentallo just gets to the point., "So, Plainsman, what now?" Persistent pain perhaps pinches one's patience for pretentious ploys thin.

The chauffeur pauses. He peers at his perilous passenger who apparently remains passive. Flumm does not appear about to pull anything. "Cannon" clutches his face and pulls his mask off. Plainsman's long locks and beard fall forward. Mentallo made him.

"The Whirlwind disguise was supposed to fool you so fast that it'd make your head spin," the imposter jokes.

"Your prosthetics worked pretty well," the conned criminal comments, "Your cybernetics suckered me too—especially in my present condition. I could not just mind probe you and confirm that you were comrade Cannon."

"When the CSA assigned me to kidnap you, the commission thought that a cyborg might have such advantage," the actor informs.

"Congratulations on your advantage, a******," the rogue rider retorts, "Your bionic brain would even allow you to act if I overtook the rest of your cerebrum."

"Sure. Correct," Plainsman confirms.

Chafed Marv chews his lip, "Why drive me to St. Louis? The feds had me held totally fine in KC."

"A lot of Avengers are in the Berkeley area right now," Plainsman replies, "They wish to apprehend you after they confront Dallas Riordan over yon." Plainsman points to the Shaw campus.

Mentallo manages surprise, "Are you saying that your CSA boss Riordan did not dispatch you? That you don't work for her?"

The Missourian Marvel affirms, "Director Dallas did not direct me. There is a squabble within the Commission on Superhuman Activities, so someone else entreated me to act like a gallant good guy. The Avengers' Arachne convinced me that her CSA ally was right. Sometimes, you need to be on the side of the angels."

Peace and quiet abruptly follow. Mentallo re-considers resisting and, hopefully, killing his kidnapper. The car's tinted glass would even conceal things from the passing public. The famed fiend feels so humiliated. However, his fractured body and fragmented mind feel crappy. Thus, Mentallo murmurs "Okay. It would have been a lousy trip to England, anyway."

"Oh good," the duplicitous delivery driver declares, "Avengers associate Doc Samson predicted passivity due to your degradation and injuries."

Schmuck Mentallo shakes his head. Someday, he shall get horrible revenge on Speed and Plainsman for this situation. For now, Flumm suggests, "Fine, we should get snacks while waiting on renegade Dallas Riordan's denouement."

**No Alibi**

Eight hundred miles east of Berkeley, the J. Edgar Hoover Building stands before Dallas Riordan. The CSA chair chats with two fellows flanking her as she enters FBI headquarters.

On Riordan's right, Erik "Atlas" Josten escorts her. Thunderbolt Atlas is her doting beau and dutiful bodyguard. He gets the door for her and announces her at the security checkpoint. Chuckling, the ex-supervillain mentions that he is ever amused that he can simply sashay into FBI HQ these days. Dallas assures Erik that it is her pleasure to empower him. They playfully pucker-up and peck.

To Dallas' left, Barney Fiddler futzes with his uniform. A formal meeting means that he has shaven and fixed his fatigues' insignia just right. He tugs his jacket and trousers into place. Even his sidearm hangs very straight at his hip. Fiddler is every bit the good soldier shepherding Riordan when the Commission on Superhuman Activities meets with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Barney even gets the up button at the elevator bank.

Ascending, Dallas and her dear discuss their coming meeting with Orville Sanderson, FBI director.

"Why do you suppose Sanderson summoned you?" Erik asks.

"I do not quite know," Riordan replies, "Why do you suppose we meet at his office on his turf instead of he at mine in the Pentagon?"

"Don't know," Atlas shrugs, "He could have a surprise for you here that he didn't want to spring across the way." The Hoover Building and the Pentagon are on opposite sides of the Potomac.

"Or, it could just be a power thing," Fiddler suggests, "Sanderson sits upon the Commission, but he is not the head. Therefore, he summons his boss this September day because he wants to switch the established social dynamics. In his office, he has the helm and you have a humbler seat. He asks the questions, and, ideally, you expediently answer. Sanderson does know some things about interrogation."

"Interrogation? About what? What may Orv plan to ask?" detective Dallas canvasses comrades.

"Maybe, he doesn't like you associating with criminals in both Missouri and D.C.," Barney boldly thinks, within without Riordan knowing.

The elevator dings. Doors open. An administrative assistant directs the trio toward another set of twin doors. The name plate says "Orville Sanderson". Like a Thunderbolt, Atlas strides for the suite. He wishes to chivalrously escort and safeguard his sweetheart at this meeting. But, Barney Fiddler steps lively past Erik Josten, and he actually enters the office ahead of his two colleagues. A good soldier takes point, and he takes it away from pretenders.

Curiously, the door slams shut right when Fiddler steps past it. The trailers pause. Perhaps, Barney slammed the door behind him. But, why would he do that? Perhaps, someone shut the soldier in. But, why would anyone do that?

"Aw s***!" Fiddler's voice sounds through the pine.

Atlas advances immediately on the entrance. Josten knocks on wood and jostles the pine. He barks, "Hey, what's going on in there?"

Along the jambs, ebon spheres subtly circulate as though something (or someone) weird were present. Occupied Atlas takes no notice. However, sharp-eyed Vantage, a.k.a. Det. Dallas Riordan, does, and she scrutinizes the small shadows with suspicion.

Suddenly, the office ingress eerily opens as though on its own. "Please excuse my automatic entrance," Orville Sanderson announces from behind his desk, "It may have surprised you."

"It is okay," Chair Riordan replies, "Security is of utmost importance for spymasters like us." [Bespectacled] Dallas studies the frame further, for she would hate for the frame—or anything else about—to be a trap. Something seems fishy here at the Federal Bureau today.

Then again, if you cannot trust a g-man, then gee, who can you? Riordan walks warily toward Sanderson, and Josten alertly leads the way.

Suddenly, the doors slam swiftly shut again—separating Dallas and Erik. And, another escort and bodyguard disappears into the director's den. Befuddled, the CSA boss staggers back. Then, before her, Doorman appears. From around the doorframe, his fluid form fixes into sapien shape. Surprised, Dallas stares at the black body blocking her way. Abruptly, white gloves grab the girl's arms and wrench resisting Riordan through the interdimensional Avenger's abdominal aperture. The abducted jerk (and jerked abductee) goes instantly elsewhere.

Behind Doorman and deadbolted doors, a baffled Atlas examines Sanderson's office. It doesn't quite look right. For one thing, the whole sight (before Josten) has wavy lines and popping pixels like a failing hologram. Pivoting, the duped dope doubles-back to destroy the dual doors, but Doorman is before Erik before Atlas obliterates the entrance. Darkforce abruptly encases a surprised sap from the Adam's apple down.

"Don't enlarge yourself," the wraith warns, "You _are_ actually inside FBI HQ. The location's lawmen would resent the wreckage."

Great Goliath wrestles with the perdurable darkforce, "Well, you're the one who ought to be arrested, Avenger. You just kidnapped the chair of the CSA."

"So what? She endangered St. Louis this summer," the shade states with swagger, "Some friends presently help her see the error of her ways."

"I'll show you the error of yours, you second-rate Blackout!" angry Atlas strains against the stalwart, stiff darkforce shell.

Amused, the Angel of Death queries, "Blackout was your buddy in the Masters of Evil, wasn't he?" The obscure reference rings a bell.

Grouchy Goliath growls, "Yeah, Blackout's darkforce devices dominated the Avengers—until Dr. Druid killed him like I'm going to. . . . ."

"What the?! Dr. Druid?! You're kidding me!" Doorman cracks-up. A titter turns to a roar. The specter starts splitting his sides with laughter. Seemingly, other voices join him in the jocular moment.

Josten scans the room for other occupants jeering him. He sees only pseudo-Sanderson—degrading to static. Promptly, the whole room's peters out. And, the Great Lakes Avengers around Atlas become apparent. Mr. Immortal, Big Bertha, and Flatman encircle around the Thunderbolt, their consistent rival.

Immortal chortles, "Well, we win this round—even if Val's video tech died like Blackout dueling Dr. Druid!" Big Bertha laughs like a large bowl full of jelly in Flatman's face.

Good-naturedly, Val "Flatman" Ventura admits, "I am no Reed Richards. The optical illusion equipment took a s***. I should have accepted Dr. Pym's help."

"What? Dr. Pym?" Atlas grinds teeth, "Are you working with the other Goliath?"

"Yes," Mr. Immortal affirms, "The Avengers wanted Riordan attained and detained."

"But, relax," Big Bertha pats the perturbed paramour's pate, "People simply want to talk to her."

Eight hundred miles west, Dallas Riordan studies Orville Sanderson across a cinderblock room. Suspended fluorescent lighting buzzes overhead. A single desk lamp delineates Director Sanderson's features at a worn metal desk. He turns the glaring gooseneck upward into the visitor's visage as though capturing her in a spotlight.

"Why don't you set yourself down," Orville indicates a steel stool standing before his stuffed swivel chair.

Dallas' sneakers squeak on this place's plain cement floor. It is not the carpet of a government administrator's comfortable office. Despite herself, Dallas feels a chill in this chamber that resembles an interrogation room. Riordan really shivers when inverted Spider-Woman slides from the eerie ceiling shadows. The snatched sucker stays stoically silent, but she wonders within "are you going to say some crap about stepping into your web?". One strong woman stares down the other.

Finally, Julia smirks, "Have a seat, sweetie." Arachne indicates the stool.

The CSA chair parks her posterior. Chin defiantly raised, she warns, "I know the Thunderbolts."

"You know the Masters of Evil? I'm duly impressed," the Avenger yawns. Staid Sanderson grins just a grain.

"I know Baron Zemo!" Dallas announces, although she has never liked Helmut.

"Baron Zemo has never scared us Avengers, and he never will," Wasp manifests from nowhere. Restless Riordan startles.

Instantly, Hank Pym appears as well, growing man-sized from the ground. In his grasp, Hank has a jar. And, in the jar, fussing Barney Fiddler stands about the size of an action figure. Pym particles must have been applied before the Avenger scooped the scamp into the shatterproof pot.

Dallas sniffs, snorts, sighs, scowls with ire. She spits on the ground. Sneering, she says, "So, where the hell am I? To where the f*** did you kidnap me?"

"You are in Berkeley, Missouri, at the same Shaw site that you thought that you controlled," Sanderson informs.

"And, what do you want?" the interview subject asks.

"Ms. Riordan, I have encouraged higher-ups to initiate an ethics investigation," FBI Director Orville Sanderson leans ominously forward.


	16. Chap 16: Okay, Bye

**Chapter 16:** **Okay, Bye**

**Limited Supply**

"You see, this is what I hate about being on the lam," Paul Pierre Duval pronounces, in a heavy French accent.

"Oh?" says his fellow Kwikee Burger customer across the aisle. The cowboy tips back his hat. Outside, a fine evening proceeds in Salina, Kansas.

"Sometimes, you can't afford s***, so you have to eat s***," the irked eater explicates.

Certain other patrons do not care for the Frenchman's Saxon. They frown.

Mum, the maverick munches his value meal but maintains eye contact.

The fussy felon further explains, "I am an international menace, so the U.S. government has frozen my f***ing assets like f***ing a*******."

"Well, don't you shoot from the hip," comments the cowboy.

Incognito Grey Gargoyle continues, "In Europe, this pathetic pabulum would not pass as food—even when passing through the bowels."

Disguised Speed dips fries and deftly devours them. "American eats are all right with me," declares he.

"How can they be?" Duval scoffs, "Those French fries are not even French. Rather, they are an abomination consummated between Yankees and Walloons. We true Parisians are much pleasanter to the potato."

"I see," the silver-haired slicker squints, "And, do you people have a beef with our beef too?"

"Oui, we do," the dining dastard disses.

"Well, that's too bad because I could wolf-down a burger or two," Shepherd scarfs six sliders in a blur, "The French must prefer snails because they're not fast food."

Grey Gargoyle rolls his eyes hard, but the veteran villain is glad to view the fancy feeding. The display verifies his suspicions that the snow-topped buckaroo over there is actually a Young Avenger. An old outlaw, such as Duval, always attends to his surroundings—and the people in them.

Bold Tommy takes off his hat, expecting the brigand's trepidation. Instead, Grey Gargoyle turns the table. Dexterously, Duval taps his torso and triggers transformation. In the millisecond that it takes for Speed to shed denim duds and move on his foe, Grey Gargoyle metamorphosizes and does so successfully. His concealed costume hastily hardens. And, the compressed cape and collar shred through his street clothes.

Charging Speed slams off solid rock, ringing his bell. He reels back. The rocky rogue tosses his petrified tray like a discus. But, with great reflexes, Speed ducks. Gargoyle turns the tabletop—tearing it from its moorings. The broad slab mashes pie-eyed Shepherd like a potato. Pulling it back, Gargoyle turns the synthetic plastic to stony slate. The sheet of rock shall splatter Speed like a restaurant rat. Duval swings the hefty swatter high.

However, American Eagle intervenes. From nowhere, Jason Strongbow strikes the descending death-dealer, and the rigid device shatters to shards. Grey Gargoyle simply smacks American Eagle hard for interfering. Instantly, Duval does a high flying axe kick up to the fiberglass ceiling slats. His heavy heel crashes upon hero's crown with a hardy crack. Strongbow crumbles to the cruddy Kwikee Burger tiles.

"Ha-ha, Batroc has trained me well," boasts the Francophilic fiend, "Your brains should be hamburger, for I—how do you say—put some mustard on that kick."

Moaning, Speed staggers to his feet. He also probably groans at Grey's rancid repartee. Right away, Duval responds to the riser. A granite grip grabs green garb and suspends the speedster from firm floor. An Avenger kicks impotently in the air.

"Hey, greased lightning," Grey Gargoyle says, "Perhaps, I can fling you from here to the fryer. How's that sound?"

"Frankly, you could just freeze me in stone," Speed suggests, "That is your usual m.o."

"Mmmm, no, burning you in oil is more amusing—and evil," the Frankish fink states, "I am a Master of Evil and have a reputation to maintain. You understand." The terror tosses the teen hero far past the counter. In the kitchen, Speed clatters through hanging utensils until reaching certain sizzling tubs. It would seem a heinous hook-shot hit a certain basket. Looking on, Grey Gargoyle licks his lips.

Between blinks of Duval's lid, flying Speed fleetly lurched left and flopped on the eatery's filthy floor mats. Bad taste in his mouth, Tommy temporarily follows the five-second rule before returning to the fight. Grey Gargoyle is tough, and Speed needs a plan.

Pivoting, Grey Gargoyle returns to American Eagle. Short on cash, the supervillain plans to pettily steal Strongbow's billfold for some play money. Also, Paul Pierre doesn't know who the pesky powerhouse is, so a peek at his i.d. would be nice. Who knows? Perhaps, the brained bruiser is even supposed to be the next big thing, like Solarman or something, and bad-man Duval can bolster his bad reputation by bragging about the brief burger joint beat-down.

However, the seating area contains no flattened fighter. Grey Gargoyle frowns. He hates when heroes rally.

From the rear, someone strong raps Grey Gargoyle in the noggin. American Eagle rabbit-punches again after that.

"Wait!" Gargoyle requests, signaling time-out.

"What?" Eagle clenches fists and teeth.

"If you think I dislike the 'amburgers, I truly hate your knuckle-sandwiches," cad quips.

"Oh, shad up!" warrior wallops.

A big stone body breaks Kwikee Burger's wide glass window, and an alert boulder cracks the sidewalk outside. Swearing superlatively, the stony scoundrel swipes for a shrubbery planted beside the restaurant. He plans to stick his foe with pointy petrified wood and to flay him with fossilized foliage. But, before Gargoyle acts, a streaking blur uproots the entire hedge in a blink and replants the whole row just out of reach. Gargoyle falls flat-faced in the upturned soil.

"Milkshakes do a body good," cocksure Speed stands clearing a cream mustache. Sometimes, a huge sugar rush helps a speedster to think and act.

"F*** you," fumes Paul, "Kwikee Burger doesn't even use actual ice cream in its shakes. Do you know that?"

"Well, that's sorta un-American," deems American Eagle stepping outside, "I'll have to talk to them after shaking you."

Abruptly, Strongbow slugs Duval across the parking lot. Grey Gargoyle dents a dually deeply. American Eagle sprints after him. GG dislodges himself. AE arrives and unmercifully uppercuts a Master of Evil for the ozone layer. The flightless Gargoyle does not reach that height, but he hurtles high into the Kansas sky. And, from skies that are not cloudy all day, the dolomite dude drops like a stone directly back for Salina. The affected asphalt explodes, and afternoon traffic stops.

"Is he down?" Jason massages an aching fist.

Inspecting, Speed says, "Apparently so. Appears to be. Grey Gargoyle is still as a statue. Let's you and me assume." There is some phrase about assuming and you and me.

As on cue, the fallen stirs and sighs. Speed springs back. American Eagle swoops in. Grey Gargoyle hefts his heavy hand. And, it flops back down on his front. Pink, plain Paul Pierre Duval appears before all, and he passes out in the Salina street.

"Yeah, he's down," assesses Eagle.

Police sirens approach as American Eagle stands akimbo over an adversary. On the ground, Duval opens one eye and winks—at you.

**Up in the Sky**

The Ohio River meanders past Metropolis, Illinois, and MODOK manages to enjoy some nature for a moment in his unnatural existence. George Tarleton tries to take in the scenery. The wide Ohio shimmers in a September sun as ships stream past. Gulls glide overhead. Trees tilt and tremble in the breeze. And, families fish from shore. Lovely and green Kentucky sits across the way. The Scientist Supreme studies the scene and manages a modicum of sentiment within. Under different circumstances, George Tarleton too would jaunt along the bucolic bank, but. . . . .

MODOK really is a monster. And, his inner man may miss everyday life, but his inner megalomaniac never will. Ever since AIM altered him, involuntarily, tech Tarleton has been more than the mundane. Therefore, he cherishes his magnificent mutilation daily.

MODOK remembers the yesterday of long ago. Initially, AIM experiments drove poor George quite mad, and he was angry. Then, the aggrieved mutate discovered his abilities such as mind control, psychic blasts, telekinesis, and every other awesome psionic under the sun. AIM had made him a marvel. So, mad MODOK slaughtered the existing echelon and became the organization's master.

George is glad to be like a god as he beholds the land before him. America's heartland is but part of an Earth that AIM will eventually utterly acquire—after AIM's damned creation convalesces awhile more.

Missouri really spat MODOK out, and he is merry for no MO of that misery. From St. Louis, faithful AIM operative Harry Daze (see _Amazing Spider-Man _#171) delivered MODOK from his hairy days. Dedicated Daze hired Illinois' own Nautilus (see _Spider-Man Unlimited _#6) to dive to the Mississippi's bottom where comatose MODOK lay in suspended animation. AIM raised its wrecked director, and Daze contacted Dr. Philip Roth of Chicago. Then, Daze gave the brilliant roboticist and physician, and future supervillain (see _Death's Head _v.3 #1-4), the _dinero_ to mend and maintain MODOK in Murphy, Missouri. From there, Daze drove the AIM director in a rented diesel to Metropolis. The humble haul kept them under the radar until southeast Illinois.

Ironically, Metropolis is not a major city. It has about six thousand residents, so it is more of a Smallville. It is an appropriate locale for an AIM safehouse subtly concealed and snuggled in Americana. Aptly, the haven is not even up in the sky, for no tall buildings are here. A third-floor window in a recently foreclosed ag facility provides MODOK his verdant view, rich with possibility.

Puckering his prodigious lips, the great head of AIM peels his peer from the outside world and turns his attention to bad enterprises. He can consider conquering all of Kentucky and beyond some other time. For now, he has correspondence and communication about which to care. From Metropolis, MODOK talks to toyman Jester in Joplin, Missouri. AIM has wicked widgets on the way. From Metropolis, he contacts general clod Armadillo and offers some advice to Amarillo. Then, the freak faxes amazo Super-Adaptoid in Omaha. Next, MODOK video chats with HYDRA brainiac Bob, and they have good intergang intercourse. Later, it is okay to see Scorpion (Carmilla Black) in Oklahoma City. After that, it is nice to network with the Enclave in Nashville. AIM has a tendency for Tennessee turf. From Metropolis, MODOK powwows with parasite Monica Rappaccini in Memphis and tries not to puke parlaying with his perpetual rival. The dreadful director voice-dictates a letter to Doomsday Man and Mad-Dog in Mongolia. He sends the Super-Apes (and Red Ghost) an e-mail. AIM's big brain broadcasts to beekeeper "bitches" on Barbuda, a.k.a. AIM Island, and Baron Blood on Boca Caliente, another AIM island. Finally, wi-fi connects MODOK and Eve Necker, in Alba, a.k.a. Scotland. They have an amiable exchange and discuss assorted ambitious evil aims aloud.

Abruptly, Hyperion bursts through a hideout wall! Eve immediately hangs-up. Ambushed MODOK manages a surprised mien.

"It's a good thing that I was on patrol and overheard your despicable plans, evil-doer. You'll never get away with them!" Squadron Supreme shakes a finger.

AIM rolls his eyes, "You have heard everyone's plans?" The super-baddie sighs.

"Certainly," the red cheese retorts, "I was in the lowest lane in Metropolis and could even hear them from there."

"Oh, what amazing ears you have," an abomination emulates Little Red Riding Hood.

"The better to bag you with!" Hyperion boasts.

"Shut up," huffs the head, hideous hood, "Behold my brainwashed bodyguard! Beat him—be you able!"

Telepathically beckoned, Earth-616's Nighthawk, by his remarkable wings, blows from the building's basement to MODOK's bastion. The Mental Organism thought ahead. Like Doc Savage, he brought his opposition to his Fortress of Solitude and reprogrammed him.

Facing his foe, the Defender bellows, "If there is even a one-percent chance that you be a threat, be warned that I will obliterate you!"

Hyperion beetles his brow, "Give it your best shot."

Indeed, Nighthawk then brandishes a blaster, bought from the Brand Corporation, and shoots several blazing bolts off an invulnerable bosom. Riled, Richmond reels his wasted weapon at the man of steely stare. By George (Reeves?), it just bounces off.

Hyperion crosses behemoth forearms and bulging biceps. A bola briefly binds his big branches, but he effortlessly breaks the braiding.

Nighthawk's belt produces a boomerang. He pitches that. Boffo breath blows it impotently aside.

"Behave," Hyperion bids.

The berserk bird flies forth. He charges across the room. Chin wagging, Hyperion heats his brown eyes red. Beams barbeque Nighhawk's wings before the bogey ever arrives. The brawler bounces off the big boy's chest.

Bellicose Nighthawk tosses his burning, blackened apparel to the floorboards. Bravely, he brings up fists and rambunctiously boxes Hyperion's body like a heavy bag. Bemused, the titan blinks repeatedly at the banal assaults.

A potent backhand bats the batty man aside off the bricks like a bug. And, that is how Nighthawk v Hyperion would go.

Golden boots beneficently tramp the fiery wings on the wooden floor. Composed Hyperion comments, "MODOK, I ought to give you a giant concussion."

"Well, that will have to wait, wretch," declares the Director, "Behold my better bound brickbat!"

Summoned from Chicago (to southern Illinois), Captain Ultra crashes through the granary's roof. Readily, the red, yellow, blue, and green wonder raises his chiseled chin, ample arms, and vibrant voice.

"Here I come to save the daaay," Captain Ultra sings like Mighty Mouse.

"Hmph. You're just a knock-off of me," Hyperion retorts to the bizarro being.

"Well, you're just a knock-off of Superman," Ultra asserts.

"So's everybody," Hyperion acknowledges.

"True," Ultra shrugs, "Do you want to knock-off MODOK? I am actually not mind-controlled currently. My ultra-will stifled this boob's psychological attack when his sinister psyche contacted mine."

MODOK curses upon being foiled again. Forthwith, supermen Hyperion and Captain Ultra together teach MODOK some manners.

**Needle's Eye **

In the south of Missouri, soon after MODOK's misadventure, September fog fills quiet forest, and gentle drizzle falls throughout Ozark hills. Tigra feels the invigorating, moist air upon her pelt and skin. She inhales it deeply and licks her lips. A cool breeze enters her ears and touches her eyes. Her gaze takes in full nature as they did recently on a hot August day. But, this time, the Avenger is fully alert and able. Her heart quickening, predator Tigra purrs into the passing haze, and she prepares to eagerly charge and pursue prey.

At her shoulder, U.S. Agent whispers, ""Fine morning for a raid, eh what?"

"I am glad that you assembled us," Greer agrees, "All three of us." A big cat's furry feet furrow the soil a bit. The bestial beauty is ready and willing to race forth.

To the left, Leonard asks, "Are there only three of us? Won't Razorback be joining us?"

"He is Arkansas' Avenger, from the Initiative at least," U.S. grants, "However, the pig cannot assist us with Project: Pele. Other heroing hogs his time."

Amused, Samson shakes his head. He sarcastically states, "Oh please, Project: Pele. Northern Arkansas is just a piece from Polynesia and its pantheon such as Pele."

"Well, do you remember Magma, the deadly foe of Spider-Man?" Walker queries.

"No," notes Doc.

"No one does," Tigra titters, "But, he has an Avengers File like every nobody."

Agent informs, "Jonathan Darque wears a super-suit that is surprisingly powerful. He has overpowered Iron Man—twice. He has pestered Spider-Man aplenty. And, he once locked horns with the Human Torch but—okay—did not do so well."

"Magma may literally shoot magma, but he wasn't hot enough to take the Torch's mantle," Tigra contributes.

U.S. Agent continues, "Still, Darque does a good job of punching way above his weight. Consistently, he assembles a sizable army. And, most impressively, Magma manages to produce potential volcanos beneath such places as Long Island and Appalachia."

"Now, he plans to bring volcanic activity to the Ozarks," Doc Samson conjectures.

"Correct, an eruption in Arkansas would be impressive. Thus, the crackpot propagates Project: Pele," pronounces John, "with AIM's aid."

"Serendipitously, we Avengers found the intelligence in seized St. Louis records," states Greer.

"Thus, you two invited me to Marvel Cave near Branson, Missouri, to make plans for opposing this obscure adversary who operates in odd places for a volcanic villain," analyzes Leonard.

"Yeah. Plus, I really like Branson," the Captain comments, "It has all kinds of American music, both country and western."

Doc Samson chuckles at the _Blues Brothers_ reference. Tigra stalks swiftly south across the state line. U.S. Agent salutes the great state of Missouri and sprints after his fellow Avenger to further amazing adventures and honorable obligation.

"Show me something new," thinks he.


End file.
